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28 de Enero 2009
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Bird in a buckeye tree
The dreams I have lately upset me so
Like gale force wind or news of a death
Like the image of a dead bird body among the leaves, fallen and moist, already in rigor
obviously gone on beyond the canopy of the old growth shadows.
Or the crack of one twig breaking in the quiet of the night.
I worry over snowflakes, and frozen streets,
rubbing the buckeye you wore
raw against your thumb before you passed it on to me, i look down at
a blistering thumb distracted from the fiery friction of your hand on my heart.
The sound of my minor chord shakes tears free from the place in my throat, in my chest,
So near the surface, where shallow breath rises
in strangled, wrangled puffs caught and thick behind my breastplate.
you insist there are soft parts
and you have found them
but I just can't imagine what that must mean to you, what you will do with those tender parts now that you have seen them once, twice, again and again.
And I hated you for saying, the way you would say anything simple and true,
That you held on to them.
It felt and still feels like the sting and stench of second hand smoke
Familiar and full of holes
Like a cage
And I, like a bird
With nothing but a beak to bite mildly and sing sadly against it
Inside this little space you built to keep me safe
but it will not protect me from myself.
just in case | By crymytinyflood | 9:48 AM
