The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Jen Coleman

And Then There Were Birds

I wonder if you'll be there when I turn around.
You’re peeing in the woods and I keep guard; I watch

two geese cut the river together without sound.
To you most everything is private. Raw and locked,
you're peeing in the woods and I keep guard. I watch,

vaguely paranoid, for any sign of danger

to you. Most everything is private, raw, and locked—
it’s a damn urgent matter why. We're here—strange, or

vaguely paranoid for any sign of danger
and that other thing of which we cannot speak.
It's a damn urgent matter. Why we're here stranger
than how I'll point out their black telepathic beaks,

but not that other thing of which we cannot speak.
Nothing more apt like a hot, single-minded knife

than how I'll point out their black telepathic beaks.
You'll say, "You just like them because they mate for life,"
nothing more apt. Like a hot, single-minded knife,
two geese cut the river together without sound.

You'll say, "You just like them because they mate for life."
I wonder if you'll be there when I turn around.