Poetry by Michael Spring
just when I sat down to write
the child's cry began on the other side
of the swollen creek, inside one
of the apartment windows
it cut through all other sounds, tearing
through the rustle of leaves
and wrinkling the song of birds
I tried to ignore it, but then it landed
on my notebook - it was exhausted, sobbing, hungry --
the scree and pitch of the water's voice
was tangled in its hair
so I gave in
and allowed it to feed on my writing
I allowed it to devour all the words it wanted
until it was stuffed
burping and gurgling and spitting up words
until it became a stanza all to itself
that is when I decided to rewrite it
do what was best for the cry
I gave it elephantine wings -- huge floppy butterfly wings--
then nudged it into the air
I watched it flap languidly -
a heavy sigh -- a sleepy breath -- floating
back towards the darkening windows
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Michael Spring is the author of blue crow, recently published by LitPot Press, 2003.
He has new poems soon to appear or has recently appeared in: Atlanta Review, Verse Libre Quarterly, Pittsburgh Quarterly, Octavo, Snow Monkey. m.a.g., Steelhead Special, sidereality, and others.
He's currently building a cob house in Cave Junction, OR.
You can reach him at Bluecrow04@cs. com.
This piece was first published in
INK POT #2 - 2003, a literary journal.
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