Monday, September 10, 2012

#26

thumbelina

once i wanted to sleep in an eggshell
live in a nest
sip dew from a petal
hide in your pocket as you suggested
wings folded up
smashed against your beating
heart
i could walk the lines in your palm like a maze
roll through the meadow of your hair
hang around your neck like a charm
that was before
you married someone regular-sized (though slim)
and had two children

your students liked my books
to them i wasn't a thumb
now occasionally some of mine will say
"when i met you i was surprised
you are such a regular person"
i never know quite how to take this
(i think they are referring to messy hair
worry lines, dust bunnies beneath the couch)
but at least they didn't expect me to be tiny, did they?

when i finally find the real "you"
he'll be able to look me in the eye
we'll stand side by side
he won't be afraid of my body
changed by two large babies
he'll be able to take
all of me


4 comments:

  1. Creek

    The bed is cement
    a flood control channel
    keeping the stick houses that crowd the banks safe
    except where floods broke the walls
    and they brought boulders to fill in
    where ever the relentless wet pounding had torn it apart.
    But most of the year it's just thin
    a meander through accreted silt and sand, tires and junk
    as reeds strain to drink the sun
    or feed the sturdy and opportunistic egrets and ducks,
    gulls and crows, swallows and coots. Each spring wings
    and beaks lay claim to another nest
    which must be hidden in the warm.

    There's no place to drop a line in the water
    no overhanging trees to give shade
    it's not deep or clean enough to swim
    no surprising bends, no flats
    an 11 year old can cast in,
    and the beaks don't really make much sound.
    But they will stalk what little fish scurry, float
    the fluff chicks - a tiny, downy fleet -
    whose whitening shells still litter.
    In a few months the nests will wash away
    when whichever caretaker rain god
    concludes his pact with Ceres' lineage
    and brings down heaven.

    It's then the creek remembers
    what it's like to pulse and growl
    free, for a bit, to muddy the bed
    and not just lay silent in a civic collar.

    ReplyDelete
  2. "I could walk the lines in your palm like a maze" I could never have enough treasure boxes to collect your beautiful words.

    ReplyDelete
  3. love nest

    i am a tiny bird
    inside a fat suit
    with scars on my belly
    i am wondering when my
    wings will be strong enough
    to fly

    my father built me this nest
    he knew i would need it
    when he flew the
    coop

    branches brittle brown like my skin
    little twigs like the bones that
    ache under all this flesh, i
    have created this obstacle, this
    massive, oozing gut, fifty
    pounds of regurgitated worms

    if i fall, i shall
    surely explode on the pavement,
    one wing torn from my
    body, twisted
    and open to rot alongside
    sun-ripened garbage.

    (such a beautiful burden.)

    ReplyDelete