photoart: ralph murre
Long Bones
by
April Michelle Bratten
She
said she could smell the
strength
from within you,
could
feel the red climb your meat
like
a ladder
as
you flew down the stairs,
your
breath coated in beer
and
the euphoria of wings.
Mother,
how
thick was your marrow
as
your head bent like a god,
and
split apart from itself
as
you crashed into the wall
at
the bottom of the steps
in
front of your young daughter?
Was
your heart as swollen
as
a bare orange in the hand
of
a little blues singer
who
thought the moon
was
too bright in that moment,
slicing
past the window,
a
reflection of your chaotic speed?
She
was right.
It
was all too brilliant,
the
light just perfect
for
this head-dance,
and
it was just an instant,
she
said,
with
the flapping of great wings,
you,
at
the top of the stairs,
being
the angel,
becoming
the devil-bird,
cracking
the air with your long bones.
~
previously published, in slightly different form,
in It Broke Anyway
(NeoPoiesis Press)
