Lynn Finger
Loss is a magician's trick
with a dove in the silk sleeve. We’re the hidden,
the breather of lies, this thin purpose saves me
from confession & judgement. It’s all back lit,
staged flimsy as an eyelid flutter. It is my turn
to crack this open. You’re gone and the dove
with you. I planted bulbs this fall, their red petal
fingers reach from soil. I am singed by the fire
of their want, their unsparing sway towards sun.
The petals are water cups for sparrows. You can
steal meaning but it still needs to dream. As kids
we played together on the monkey bars & dug caves
in the silted dirt behind the house, you a savior of ants.
We squinted into the wind as certain as sea pirates, your
laugh carried anything. The petals flame, reach up, twine
the sky. In the sycamore over us, we hear the hollow
call of a dove. Why does memory revert to this, when
I think of them removing you from life support.
the breather of lies, this thin purpose saves me
from confession & judgement. It’s all back lit,
staged flimsy as an eyelid flutter. It is my turn
to crack this open. You’re gone and the dove
with you. I planted bulbs this fall, their red petal
fingers reach from soil. I am singed by the fire
of their want, their unsparing sway towards sun.
The petals are water cups for sparrows. You can
steal meaning but it still needs to dream. As kids
we played together on the monkey bars & dug caves
in the silted dirt behind the house, you a savior of ants.
We squinted into the wind as certain as sea pirates, your
laugh carried anything. The petals flame, reach up, twine
the sky. In the sycamore over us, we hear the hollow
call of a dove. Why does memory revert to this, when
I think of them removing you from life support.
Biography
|
Lynn Finger’s poetry has appeared in Night Music Journal, Ekphrastic Review, 8Poems, Perhappened, Daily Drunk, and is forthcoming in Twin Pies and Drunk Monkeys. Lynn is an editor at Harpy Hybrid Review and works with a group that mentors writers in prison. Follow Lynn at @sweetfirefly2.
|
