I awake on a sidewalk as a bird
and in a moment of comic idiocy
I fly into a store
where a woman swings a broom at me,
shouting, "Un pájaro!"
She misses me by inches
as I have missed so many things
by inches or miles
and if she breaks my wings
her dustpan will be my grave.
Once, I knew--or dreamed
your skin by Tiffany lamp.
In those days,
the mornings were quiet and damp
like a woods at first light
where we could go walking
and not worry where we'd been.
I careen into packages of pasta
which fall like pilgrims to the floor.
The woman spits,
"Ay! Diablo!" and has no more
pity for me than a loaded gun.
How did I become a bird
in this ridiculous situation?
I remember the day when you left
with your bags like a brood of chicks
gathered at your feet
in their nest of sticks
like burning incense.
Now, I am a mourning dove without a sky
with a new woman now, who shouts, "Diablo! Ay!"
_______________
For Word Garden Word List--Light, Coming Back
Music: Gary BB Coleman The Sky Is Crying
GAH! So. Good. The skin by Tiffany lamp, the mornings quiet and damp like a woods at first light - the bird, the broom, the bags like a brood of chicks. The originality of your imagery and imagination never fails to amaze me. "Now I am a mourning dove without a sky." A line to top all lines.
ReplyDeleteHow very beautiful this poem is - I felt immersed in the story and I loved the empowered ending - may you fly high - Jae
ReplyDeleteSome beautiful lines in this poem, Shay. An interesting story, with some lovely lines:
ReplyDelete"In those days,
the mornings were quiet and damp
like a woods at first light
where we could go walking
and not worry where we'd been."
That sounds wonderful, but being a mourning dove without a sky saddens me!
Same angel, different day, still trying to make sense of light on wings flown far from the cedars of Lebanon. Are we the only ones who age, or does light, too?
ReplyDelete