we're the birds
by FMLe
rough is love with too much coffee,
hanging on the edge of my mind,
hands with chew marks
when it tried to break free
now hangs there on the cliff,
manic tears and a bed
that doesn't sleep
swinging like
a baby's cradle,
rough rock under
the chewed hands
stalked by hungry
scavenger birds.
one hand left with a dove
like her broken wing
when it rains
the hand is shelter
she pretends it's healing
the battered feathers
the egg white color,
like her, like moon
and a reflection
and she loves only his
severed hand, cold wind
the dull ache of shattered
bone and she pretends it's love
this silver bullet pain
in her useless wing
hanging on the edge of my mind,
hands with chew marks
when it tried to break free
now hangs there on the cliff,
manic tears and a bed
that doesn't sleep
swinging like
a baby's cradle,
rough rock under
the chewed hands
stalked by hungry
scavenger birds.
one hand left with a dove
like her broken wing
when it rains
the hand is shelter
she pretends it's healing
the battered feathers
the egg white color,
like her, like moon
and a reflection
and she loves only his
severed hand, cold wind
the dull ache of shattered
bone and she pretends it's love
this silver bullet pain
in her useless wing
|
3
favs |
221 views
4 comments |
103 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
Fall 2004 - I don't know if these two go together, I assume because of the way they were laid out in my journal they do but I could be wrong.
Other stories by FMLe
Tags
This story has no tags.
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
So much rich imagery here, Felicia, and a rhythm that rolls as softly but powerfully along as the theme itself.
Love:
silver bullet pain in her useless wing
rough is love with too much coffee
A fine, fine piece to have been written six years ago. Work I put on paper six years ago was pretty terrible, but that's the point, I guess. Growth.
Oh I think they fit together. Great use of syntax and line here. Favorite lines:
one hand left with a dove
like her broken wing
when it rains
the hand is shelter
she pretends it's healing
the battered feathers
the egg white color,
like her, like moon
Good piece, Felicia.
this is a stunning poem
I love this very much. The imagery is amazing.