Benjamin Morris: One Poem

Benjamin Morris

A native of Mississippi, Benjamin Morris has recently completed a PhD in Archaeology at the University of Cambridge. His creative work appears in magazines on both sides of the pond, and more often than not he places second, third, or tied-for-third in writing competitions. Recently this prowess resulted in a bottle opener shaped like a shark from an aquarium poetry contest, which he will gladly employ if you come round for a beer. In February 2010 his dramatic work was selected for a new writing workshop run by Menagerie Theatre Company and the BBC, and he has co-edited two anthologies from Forest Publications in Edinburgh (http://forpub.com), where he is an editor. American by birth but Southern by the grace of God, his drink is bourbon and rocks.

The Treehouse

Deciphering the scraps of what I came
home with last night—an inventory of
misfiture, an Elvis lighter, the names
of local flora spattered on my shirt, a dove
tied to a ribbon around my foot, cooing
softly as the day invades the window—
what in jasmine’s name were you doing,
you ask, what the lily were you into?
There’s a sapling in the corner of the yard,
soil and spade sidling up to it with no
good intention in their hearts. I don’t know
how that got there, either. Ask the bird.
He’ll tell you—that such mysteries are gifts,
that houses dream of trees, that the King lives.