Miktaw's Ridge

A Haven from the elders

A pebble drops.
I watch it fall,
From an overhanging cliff up above,
The lake where ferals play.

It was scuffed off the ledge
By a shirtless youth.
His chest decorated with scars
shaped by the elders to describe his soul.
__________________________________________
Miktaw escaped to this ridge,
his fox in tow,
From his narrow-minded kin.
They've a camp in the valley.

He bends down and grabs the ground,
Lowering himself to dangle
Head o'er edge.
Dry grass mixed with lake reeds fills the air.

He drops his arms o'er edge too;
Plucks dirt chunks from the wall of the overhang,
Flings them into the lake below.

Blood rushes his head.
Tig the fox walks over his back.
The warmth of Sun kisses his skin.

The world's different over here.
His father and the other Men can't find him to chastise him.

"There's going to be talks of resettling." Miktaw thinks to himself.
"If they forbid me from being one with her, I will hate them forever. Such a stupid tradition to 'bond within the tribe.'"

A huge fish jumps and splashes nearby.

"Miktaw!! Are you up there again?" He hears Father yell from away.

"Damn." Miktaw whispers.

Author's Note

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