Rebecca Pyle

Orphans, Old

In Prague they remembered the old orphans
Who came to their house, pretending to be
Religious people, or famous writers.
He sat on a big pillow, and she
Took the favorite chair. Another
Came with band-aids on his
Face and his science fiction.
Others liked dressing up and
Pretending to be a professor or a
Doctor of writing. They smiled and gave
Them tea and wine and cookies and cheese
And ten years later half were gone, unfindable,
But we remembered how they made up names
For themselves, pretended to be lightning-stricken
With great truths, by agents fighting for their works—
Everywhere! And always attended astronomical events
Where crazy old men gathered with great large telescopes.

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Rebecca Pyle is living in France this year. Poetry by her appears in Flying Island Journal, The Honest Ulsterman, Underwater New York, The Penn Review, The Chattahoochee Review, and Otis Nebula. Rebecca is also published in art/literary journals as a fiction writer and as a visual artist (see rebeccapyleartist.com).