if stone had eyes
they would be these two
unblinking pebbles
on this head
tilting to watch me
balanced
on this small dinosaur neck
curved in an S
then straightening
to an I
she is writing me
in cursive
though I cannot read
any language
turtles speak
this is why I wait on the bank
mouth stung with the acid of tomatoes
to watch this heron
my aunt called blue
but my mother insisted
was officially green
argument never settled
& unimportant to this bird
stilting in water
to fish
or perhaps pose
just for me
They fly always
in twos
white butterflies
in spiral flutters
around each other
and sometimes
tracing together
figures of eight
or is it infinity
they wing
always looping
their together
slowly
never touching
this is how
a soul feeds
puts down roots
grows
something
like a tree
matter
& stretching
not taller
just up
because that is what
trees know
(at least
in this poem
where I
put words
to their
mouthlessness)
leaning
only slightly
with them
to witness light
swim in water
we are busy
just holding
atoms together
the stones
intent
on being stones
my body
maintaining itself
while water
gently, slowly
makes stone less stone
& me less I
in currents
stroking loss
of a little bit of self
I can only
know as pleasure
I do not know
what the stones feel
old glass fractures light to rainbow splinters
hot enough to scorch wood
mechanical birds pipe their song
back and forth wound
hot enough to scorch wood
neon parrots, scarlet macaws, ultramarine parakeets
back and forth wound
chained to the same notes over and over,
neon parrots, scarlet macaws, ultramarine parakeets
interrupting or punctuating bored women
chained to the same notes over and over,
hawking watches, hatpins, fragile scarves tenuous as cobwebs
interrupting or punctuating bored women
the bird voices wound up or slowing
hawking watches, hatpins, fragile scarves tenuous as cobwebs
twine with shouts of sunburnt men fondling cantaloupe round and heavy,
the bird voices wound up or slowing
spiced with bloodwarm tomatoes, voluptuous peaches.
twine with shouts of sunburnt men fondling cantaloupe round and heavy,
a song winding down over some grandma’s china
spiced with bloodwarm tomatoes, voluptuous peaches.
unwound, the birdsong is a siren insisting I must want beads
a song winding down over some grandma’s china
bright as August, pearls cast in sunset plastic
unwound, the birdsong is a siren insisting I must want beads
the birds whisper that if their wings worked
bright as August, pearls cast in sunset plastic
they would stream ultramarine and scarlet, cerulean and crimson
the birds whisper that if their wings worked
those wings would shape a clean wind
they would stream ultramarine and scarlet, cerulean and crimson
scatter baseball cards & bubblegum rings,
those wings would shape a clean wind
overturn shelves stuffed with pulp fiction
scatter baseball cards & bubblegum rings,
liberate a book of Roethke’s poems
overturn shelves stuffed with pulp fiction
full of bones & water & sun
liberate a book of Roethke’s poems
turning my face up for a kiss
full of bones & water & sun
mechanical birds pipe their song
turning my face up for a kiss
as old glass fractures light to rainbow splinters
***this pantoum was originally a sound and color experiment I did a long, long time ago. posted the original experiment here in April: https://susandanielseden.wordpress.com/2012/04/13/flea-market/
Susan Daniels Poetry 