Puppet X, 8

by Jerry Ratch




Puppet X, 8



After too much

I had forgotten how to fly.

There was a small owl with me

on the old dirt road by the wind.

It was a very dark gray,

like an ash.

Its beak moved, it opened and shut,

opened and closed,

but I had also forgotten the language

of owls.

I could see that its wings

were too short

and it too could not fly,

but it had never

forgotten how.

And it saw

that I no longer understood.

Two times I tried simply

leaning into the wind,

and both times I flopped on the ground.

And the small owl waddled over to me

and it peered into my face

and its beak moved

and moved,

but it did not speak.