What It’s Like   1 comment

What It Is Like

to spend 10 years with an exotic bird
looking up at him with his wild feathers
he blankets me somehow
like I’m a bird deep in a nest
and he’s trying to make up our minds

inside his crazy colors
tips me upside down in distress, in delight

he takes me to parties with rocks, rivers, and men named Mho
we sit in backyards with horrible views
we waste time talking politics

sometimes the chasm between us, so deep I cannot jump it
then he draws me across to watch 5 baby birds
on a wire afraid to fly

he longs for his outdoor cathedrals but forgets the way
I coax him across this chasm
just skinned shins and roughed-up-hope
for one more summer

I don’t cry much. It was Nebraska. It was Colorado. It was a dream.
The plan remains- something about nests, leaving, staying?

again he draws me to the moon
and tree shadows on adobe walls
time has won something
it’s okay to write the same poem over and over
just deeper, enjambing the veins, sinking into stanzas
writing into exhaustion

Mary Strong Jackson
July, 2012


Posted August 5, 2012 by strongjacksonpoet54 in Uncategorized

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One response to “What It’s Like

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  1. Thanks, &yes, its OK


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