Weathervane – a tiny true story
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Eyes pointed at the sky. Melody clear and perfect settled on the roof. Tiny voice filling the air. Delicate hollow bones balancing on the weathervane. Seems decades ago we discovered the wrought iron fixture at the flea market; a creaky dive with discarded toys, Post-Depression tools and miles of missing teeth. We anchored the wind reader, with its proud patina horse, to the garage peak. There, our valiant filly galloped through the atmosphere till her strong legs could no longer outrun the wind. Somehow, the compass remained intact.
On the dull backdrop of another chilly overcast day, my little bird friend has chosen one metal branch above the others. As I listen to sunrise songs floating down to the driveway, I assign new meaning to the weathervane. S for Sun—for you, the warmth in our lives no matter the weather.
very excited to have my poem, the pegasus clock in ICU15, appear in this excellent zine!
while you’re there check out fellow poet, Robert Okaji’s prize winning piece, A Further Response from the Hornet’s Nest
The Pegasus Clock in ICU15
such ridiculous tools. as if words could fix a bleeding brain.
preordained fabric dividers meant to separate us if you die.
divert eyes staring at the clock. remember I’d told you the
stories. oversized book. water-washed illustrations. pegasus,
my benevolent savior. the man in golden sandals flies me away.
clouds disconnect from bleached cotton and plastic pillows
sweating the sick. sister mary sometimes foiled my library day
with the winged horse. give someone else a turn annmarie. you
can’t take the book every thursday. blinded by Christian light she
couldn’t comprehend pegasus and me needling defeat between
fetlock and toe. so much tubing here. how many times might it
circle the world? fall risk wrapped around your wrist. i remember
periwinkle choir robes. living angel singing out with bright lips.
mom, please wake up. Use your words. Use your voice. the
pegasus clock in ICU15 stammers. his magnificent wings
unfurl. shimmering feathers brush away these hideous blinking
lights and institutional grey floors. fly it all away.
rising up from the lobby traffic
dark robes shadow her dimming eyes
petrified ash covering her skin flicked off the devil’s cigarette
I now believe in failure
sallow cheekbones sunken above anchored form
where careless pay fingers multiply and nest
prodigal daughter turns painted toenails into broken shine
wheelchairs made of witch-bone wait along the cinderblock
she is tethered to the weight of memories and moments
while tongues speak antiseptic Latin
I neglect the headlights coming at me in the dark
latent images floating like sour candy
all is never the same, driving no escape route
her drop foot like cement on the brake