At Dusk
By Russell Karrick
Perched in the branches
of the avocado tree, the chickens
are almost asleep. My son
lifts his head from my chest
and points to them. Each day
I carry him through the yard
at dusk and we hunt for seasonal
treasures. Tonight, he spies
amanita muscaria below the pines
and we marvel at its ruby caps.
In the sky, the moon is not yet
a moon, but I whisper its name
into his ear, and as I begin
to walk back toward the house
he stops me near the guava trees.
I move us closer while he stretches
his arm and, by some instinct
I’ve long lost to reason, plucks
the only red fruit among the leaves.
This story originally appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 19. Support local booksellers and independent publishers by ordering a print copy of the magazine.
Photo by Melvin Chavez.