Swans came to me
as they frequently have,
in flocks like nuns
and in nightmares
rising from lilies pressed
in the pages of a bible.
"You must forgive," they said,
"to turn dust to bread."
Wearing a black masquerade
mask, the nearest said,
"You will feel better." So I shot it
and immediately did.
A crowd cursed me and called
me a devil. They kissed the swans,
held them like bouquets,
offering them to me like scripture.
Now, I carry a thorny rose in my teeth
and wrap the vines around the beaks
of every talking bird I meet.
I eat my black bread with red jam,
my face a volcano, my heart a ringing forge.
_________
for desperatepoets "wrestling angels".
image: unknown artist, found on Pinterest.
Music: The Animals It's My Life
Deliciously badass. I laughed out loud at the end of the third. What a portrait you paint. Pure sassy malevolence and a large dollop of 'do not f--- with me' thrown in for good measure. Who would want to wrestle her? Thanks for bringing inky blood to the table.
ReplyDeleteWow! Wow! Wow!
ReplyDeleteWow! Wow! Wow!
DeleteI love the swans coming in flocks like nuns SO much! LOL re the shooting making you feel better. Love the black bread and red jam. Love the whole thing! As always, you surprise, and leave the reader shaking her head in admiration. Thanks also for your comment on my site, which made my day which has been , otherwise, hard, given loved ones who are struggling, and a loved animal who died a hard death. It meant so much.
ReplyDeleteSwans can seem such sanctimonious birds. Here they are also proselytizing busybodies wrapped in deceptive white feathers. Agree the third stanza is a masterpiece of understated wit, and the conclusion is so vivid and strong it's almost like a personal experience...in fact, I feel if I haven't slapped those beaks with a gag order of thorns, I certainly should. A triumphant spirit of strength makes this poem very satisfying to read. A fine wrestling match, indeed.
ReplyDeleteNo turning the other cheek without loosing a defiant Bronx cheer. Nobody said wrestling angels was the poetry of foregone conclusions. In fact not: We are defeated in all manner of bizarre satisfactions. Like taking a ruler back to those nuns. Yeats' Crazy Jane is one of God's jesters, she's purely tuned and most feral in the final four lines.
ReplyDeleteI love everything about this gorgeous poem but especially the defiant strength it holds much like your amazing spirit my friend.
ReplyDeleteAnother tour-de-force, with swans and their beaks wrapped with viscera. That last line! Lord, that heart a ringing forge. Doesn’t get any better than that.
ReplyDeleteUnsolicited advice can be frustrating and commands that one “must” do something can be enraging, especially coming from those who are masquerading. Forgiveness is a tricky business, and personal. You are amazing.
ReplyDeleteJust gorgeous. I love this tale. The imagery is so vivid, as ever. Love that final line, so uncompromising, "my face a volcano, my heart a ringing forge."
ReplyDeleteFun fact, in this country, many of the swans were owned by the queen, and now I guess, by King Charles. No idea why :-D
So you shot it and felt better! Love this declaration of defiance, independence. Pass the red jam please.
ReplyDelete