Photo by Romana Iorga
some things to watch out for in a poem
something big something small something
with wings
something hungry or sated something
that doesn’t know what it wants
to die to sleep perchance
to write a poem
something that grows on trees like money
but juicier something with a pit
pick it eat it break
your teeth on it
something that strokes your neck at night
not a feather not someone’s breath not even
a dream
something that clings to a wall scurries along
the ground binds your hands bursts
out of your mouth
something that stretches lingers grows
deafening
follows wherever you go
something that holds up the sky gets caught
in your teeth makes clamshells weep
something covered with moss you pull up to your chin
over your lips your eyes your naked
thoughts
something that breaks into song
when you expect it the least
something that drops from the sky shatters on impact
bleeds
something with a tail to nuzzle into your palm to pierce
the soft shell of your heart something
to take home
something that rolls from under your feet gathers
no moss loves glass houses something
to hold in your fist
something with roots you want to slip sleep under
climb into hug borrow its skin
something neither too big nor too small
something in-between
First published in Thin Air Magazine, Summer 2020
I always stop reading every time I encounter the word “shard”.
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