once i wanted to sleep in an eggshell
live in a nest
sip dew from a petal
hide in your pocket as you suggested
wings folded up
smashed against your beating
heart
i could walk the lines in your palm like a maze
roll through the meadow of your hair
hang around your neck like a charm
that was before
you married someone regular-sized (though slim)
and had two children
your students liked my books
to them i wasn't a thumb
now occasionally some of mine will say
"when i met you i was surprised
you are such a regular person"
i never know quite how to take this
(i think they are referring to messy hair
worry lines, dust bunnies beneath the couch)
but at least they didn't expect me to be tiny, did they?
when i finally find the real "you"
he'll be able to look me in the eye
we'll stand side by side
he won't be afraid of my body
changed by two large babies
he'll be able to take
all of me
Creek
ReplyDeleteThe bed is cement
a flood control channel
keeping the stick houses that crowd the banks safe
except where floods broke the walls
and they brought boulders to fill in
where ever the relentless wet pounding had torn it apart.
But most of the year it's just thin
a meander through accreted silt and sand, tires and junk
as reeds strain to drink the sun
or feed the sturdy and opportunistic egrets and ducks,
gulls and crows, swallows and coots. Each spring wings
and beaks lay claim to another nest
which must be hidden in the warm.
There's no place to drop a line in the water
no overhanging trees to give shade
it's not deep or clean enough to swim
no surprising bends, no flats
an 11 year old can cast in,
and the beaks don't really make much sound.
But they will stalk what little fish scurry, float
the fluff chicks - a tiny, downy fleet -
whose whitening shells still litter.
In a few months the nests will wash away
when whichever caretaker rain god
concludes his pact with Ceres' lineage
and brings down heaven.
It's then the creek remembers
what it's like to pulse and growl
free, for a bit, to muddy the bed
and not just lay silent in a civic collar.
"I could walk the lines in your palm like a maze" I could never have enough treasure boxes to collect your beautiful words.
ReplyDeleteI like this one.
ReplyDeleteXO
A
love nest
ReplyDeletei am a tiny bird
inside a fat suit
with scars on my belly
i am wondering when my
wings will be strong enough
to fly
my father built me this nest
he knew i would need it
when he flew the
coop
branches brittle brown like my skin
little twigs like the bones that
ache under all this flesh, i
have created this obstacle, this
massive, oozing gut, fifty
pounds of regurgitated worms
if i fall, i shall
surely explode on the pavement,
one wing torn from my
body, twisted
and open to rot alongside
sun-ripened garbage.
(such a beautiful burden.)