Mountains

Marilyn Cavicchia

If there were mountains, I never saw them
in the rear-view mirror or in the bottom of my cup.
Do the children live in the mountains? Do they eat
candy they stole from a house? The gutters, the shutters
stuffing them until they get sick? Does an old woman
try to help them, only to be called a witch? I never
lived in the mountains. I never had a candy house,
only this plain wooden one, only sticky with pine sap,
you see, and that would never attract children,
no matter how greedy, hungry, and fat.

Marilyn Cavicchia lives in Chicago and is an editor at the American Bar Association as well as a freelance grant writer. Other publications in which her poems have recently appeared include: The Disappointed Housewife, BlueHouse Journal, and Instant Noodles. Follow her on Twitter: @MarilynCavi

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