The Innisfree Poetry Journal

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,
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.

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