Monday, November 16, 2009

Saving Crow's Feet

Saving crow’s feet

This is the wrong time
And the wrong place

To save crow’s feet

The ground quakes with rushed tires,
the sky breaks

I am not okay

With the world shifting around a broken life
Headlights bead the road- my hazards flash “alarming” in desperation-

Into the street I crouch to my knees-
To save crows feet

My father’s voice, whisper’s in my mind-

Which used to nurture the light, of helpless life,
softer than any other

His accent was lost over the airs of a decade-

It is as if you wince your soul like eyes

to try and see a dead face,
You once mapped so well

Now is impressionist~
Mostly gone,

a negative,
not exposed.

And I wrapped him,
the crow-

Drove not knowing how to save

Crows feet

And walked into the door of an animal clinic –
Where a box

With a towel softly bandaging the bottom
Was waiting for him

And he crouched, this pinioned friend,
Like a scared hurt child in the corner,

beak arched down.

As I walked away,

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