The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by Ann Lovett
Minor Emergency
First a baby’s cry, then desire winding a ribbon up and down through the damp air, half wail, half cry and hunger a stone you wrap yourself around. Like the far-off knowledge of pain, trombone-slide disaster calls in your mother’s voice, your lover’s voice, your own too distant to hear now except when the wind is low. All this spiraled song yet rain still sieves its straight lines through branched air and tulips heave their heavy heads aloft, ruffled fledglings flung through acquiescent space. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |