You know how it goes:
A cardinal flies overhead while you're walking alone,
Nothing but dirt under your feet.
Neither of you make a sound.
Neither of you know how.
Mothers lips come to mind, but they're no longer there--
two wings remain, crimson undulations.
A temporary suspension of her image,
Like lips illuminating her face in your mind.
The exact image she described
(When she told you to remember her)
When she told you she'd try and learn to fly,
So that a cardinal would be more than
She once was.
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ReplyDeleteOkay so I can't figure out how to change my name when I comment so that it says "Charlotte" instead of "chuppy," but I wanted to say that I really like this. It's one of my favourite of your poems.
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