The Dryad at Vista Park

There’s a dryad in that oak tree. Look

how the children cling to her roots

like cherubs behind the robe of their mother

when father time stumbles drunken through the door.

Look how the dog sniffs the dewy grass

then shuffles to shit in the playground sand.

That’s a dryad alright. An old dame. Who else

would turn a blind eye to the Bacchanite undulating

of two teens after dark: Ambrosia high on burnt weed.

Watch her rustle the branches, scowl at the early morning blow

as though Pan had come a-calling again, enamored

not with the buxom bottom, or the slender breast,

but the bark, the cracks of aged skin and good conversation.

***

Cassady O’Reilly-Hahn is a poet with an MA from Claremont Graduate University. He is a managing editor for Foothill: A Poetry Journal that highlights graduate student voices. He works for Deluxe, a company that localizes TV and Film for a global audience. In his free time, Cassady writes Haiku for his personal blog, orhawrites, and his Instagram @cassady_orha. Cassady currently resides in Redlands, California, where he can be found flipping through fantasy novels in a cozy recliner on the weekends.