Tuesday, May 02, 2017

Atlas Poetica, Number 27, April 2017

Cherita Sequence:

her name was cherita

the street awakens

another tribe of wanderers
home, a word long since forgotten

in a shabby black coat
she claims to be descended
from a long line of crows

her hands flutter

two migratory birds
that have gone astray

the world, too harsh
to be a safe haven
for accidentals

paper-thin body

this pale skeleton
of the bird I once knew

those pinioned feathers
never had a chance to carry her
too close to the sun

broken-backed prairie

where the wild things are blown
when their roots are severed

uncaged at last,
she joins the waiting flock
that always knew her name

Single Cherita:

lightning storm

a shadow
runs for shelter

I still see you,
sparks flying
from your fingertips

scimitar moon

never enough light
to capture your curves

photographs of you,
the negative spaces
between us

I am not who I was

with each season
comes a deeper sorrow

the stones I carry
so round and blue
might have been your eyes

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