Way down below the stairways in the darkest city lanes
the Snottles wake, and yawning, leave their daytime habitat
where, blinking basements from their brows,
they gather in their umbershawlets redolent of drains,
then separate to find the saddest people that
the city in its insularity allows.

A Snottle hears the sound of sobbing coming from the park
beside the lake beneath the trees. Its glooming eyes detect
a woman hunkered on the ground.
It dips its gnarly cland into its heftle sack, a dark
on dark uncertain something she can’t see and won’t expect
is left beside her. Then the Snottle’s gone, without a sound.

Amanda sleeps upon the bench, her cheeks are flushed and damp.
She’s run away from home and now she’s ill. A shadeling stops
beside her for a moment, then
is gone, a whisper in the night. Attracted by a lamp
that shines along a stoop, a darkle loops towards the shops
in fleeting shades of shurple; drops a chink by lonely Ben.

The morning brings surprises as all mornings do. The sun
tap dances on the lake. The woman wakes. She’s still alone,
but there’s a box tied up with rope
beside her, and inside she finds a blousy flower spun
from dreams. Amanda has a nest and knows that birds have flown
away.. she will return to hers. Each has a gift of hope,

for Ben discovered that the ring he lost so long ago
was shining by his boot this morning. He was loved by her,
and suddenly he’s warm inside.
Around the city people wake to beauty, wake to know
they’ve never really looked before, and so their troubles blur;
when wonder rises, values throttle arrogance and pride.

And smiling, deep beneath the city, ugly Snottles hide.

Kathy Earsman

meet Kathy Earsman