by Mercedes Lawry

 

 

Because I have a skeleton, I am greedy for bread.

Because the wind enters my ears and wreaks havoc

on my equilibrium, I cannot sing in tune.

Because there are so many greens to choose from,

I choose blue.

First, the racket of hail, a minor assault on the house,

a vestigial thrill in the gray collapse.

Next, streaks of orange and pocked clouds. 

Then, stillness, all but a testy crow.

Because I swallow an emphasis on pause.

Because the apple tree has branches to spare

and the roots, too, are generous.

Because lies have left scars and I have a tendency

to worry them.

The frescoes emerge inside my eyelids.

Remnants of wings attach at my heels.

I carry the blather like a bowl of soup 

and its steam burns my fingers,

clouds my vision.