Four professors and six years ago, we gathered under moss trees in the bayou and started writing in our pirogues. Now we find ourselves miles apart longing for carports filled with the smell of crawfish under a blue moon. This is our correspondence with one another. These are our stories.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Winter in Four-part Harmony
Part 1
Waking to weight of white
against evergreen, doves balance
on plastic perches to feed. Woodpeckers
trill as finches red and gold flutter
between clumped falling flakes.
Fluttering winged colors infuse what would be stillness with an energy that beckons whiskers and claws to forsake the fireplace and press wet nose to cold window, tongue clicking a guttral cry for the freshest meat, bones crunching feathers scattered-- to no avail.
Beat-back wings wind around the carousel down and up and into the frame. Longing for the sweet drips of sugar water, she waits until, until - the buzzing. Always the buzzing. Then gone.
Fluttering winged colors
ReplyDeleteinfuse what would be stillness
with an energy that beckons
whiskers and claws to forsake the fireplace
and press wet nose to cold window,
tongue clicking a guttral cry
for the freshest meat, bones crunching
feathers scattered--
to no avail.
Beat-back wings wind around
ReplyDeletethe carousel down and up and
into the frame. Longing
for the sweet drips of sugar water,
she waits until, until -
the buzzing. Always the buzzing.
Then gone.
i eye you
ReplyDeleteodd angle
fond england
blue-knot
vein winter
broods blood
binds us