Epilogues

            It turns out that Bambi’s mother
was only stunned, a mere flesh wound, a nick in her brow.
            The gentle drizzle woke her.

Buddha conspired with Amaterasu-o-Mikami:
            “Let the blind prince, Tsurumaru,
be quickly rescued by a farmer chasing a lost pig.”

            In a totally unexpected reversal,
Hitler emptied the work camps, sent everyone back home,
            and retired to a Tibetan monastery.

Judas changed his mind and slunk back to the supper.
            He slid silently into his seat.
Jesus glanced his way and gave him a wink.

            And you, my love, you
returned that crimson Miata, said goodbye to your tart
            and crawled back between my sheets.

Pear

You didn’t pick
that small pear

hidden in the leaves.
You moved on,

left it to soften
and fall

where ants grew drunk
on its juices.  

River Montijo has been writing poetry, short stories, and songs for children and adults since 1991. She has an MFA from Otis College of Art and Design and an MArch from California Polytechnic University. In addition, she has studied at University of Iowa summer writing program for three years. She has been published in Cricket Magazine, Easy Reader, and in the compilation Poetry in the Garden. She is a resident of both Doha, Qatar, and Los Angeles.