Friday, October 7, 2011

Oars Across (A Frightening Wind)

The wind scares me.
Oaring across the street it throws everything off.
A piece of glass teeters precariously.
They say your heart is beating far too fast
when I put my ear to the hollow of your chest it flutters
like a panicked bird after it has hit a plate glass window.


The sparrow lies in the mud, black eyes darting, felled, desiring flight.
A tiny mound of brown and grey billowing softly in the scary wind.
Is this what a heart attack looks like?  Crumpled, grey?
Stopped short by sudden impact?


The clock turns 9:50 pm, you’re still at work -


The wind outside is frightening.
They say it will die down tomorrow.


Your car rolls into the driveway faster than the wind.
I show you the bird rescued from the mud, it lies in the box, still, dumb.
Outside, curtains on the screen house come loose.
The wind is frightening.
Canvas flaps furiously against the bedroom window.


Ten years from now, how will I pour the wine?
Alone in a tattered screen-house
I remember how a thin sheet of glass
stopped a free bird dead.

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