Geranium
(published by South Broadway Ghost Society)
a blackbird flies backwards from tinted window
and you are caught in its starling shadow
waking cracks climbing the sides of
these feeble buildings
the buildings are in a perpetual state of falling
only grey skies hold them in place
the grey tone of your voice contemplates weather
as if that were the only geranium
your throat could grow
it is better to speak in chrysanthemums,
lupine, perhaps shooting star
this city led you, little antelope,
into a cunning enclosure
you never learned how to jump,
never learned Indian Paintbrush
but you know how to run
wide open calls you home
in a language of blue
blue that holds your heart in place,
keeps it from killing you
your pillow was covered in blackbird feathers
if only it were a sign
winged thing sits on your chest in the night
to cry, but not in words
paved over rivers can still drown deer brothers
and sisters, if only this were fable
then struggle would be no more than lesson
transformation wouldn’t be so fatal
curses could be lifted with the correct incantations
you are hooves and ochre, sawdust and iron
blessed by coarse calico, be they ropes or binding
this city called to you three times and
three times you answered with lips like milkweed
your geraniums are malnourished monotone grey
where is the wild thing you once knew?
was domestic chosen for you?
remember to run when the wind calls
remember the buildings will fall
do not let them take you when they topple
you are so much more than this Underland and ash
you are flowers and flight
you are the generation of beginning
plant your seeds in the mouths of everyone you meet
may it be brighter when they speak
to sew gardens over civilizations
a place without shadows or fences
where antelope run
and run, and run
