His Origin is from Old

His Origin is from Old

Phil Flott

A long time ago,
when phloem and xylem
grew seedling grasses,
horses needed only three toes
and were frightened of rams.
Coal was growing in the swamps,
gold an unneeded commodity.

He came from ancient times,
before Louisiana sugar cane flourished
or Georgia pine trees grew knots.
The river flowed as mere spit
of the snows;
streams awaited
slivers of fish that
small Kodiak mice pawed out of the rapids.
Birds were pushing clouds from the sky,
spiders weaved sunbeams to earth.

All this time he prepared
a spectacular home for me.
He drew me the flat land of Nebraska,
squiggled the Missouri to the east
and Sandhills to the west.
Cold never infringed on the heat.
I would be able to flourish.

---

Phil Flott
Poet & Priest

Phil is a semi-retired Catholic priest. Find his poems in Spirit Fire Review and soon in Beznco & Clay Jar Review.

Photography by Gül Işık