Here's a little something I wrote after having to bury a bird
yesterday:
Even when the mind
is homeless
the world is there real and difficult
We can’t understand
all we touch but we must talk
about it
The bird I just buried had a home
I’m not giving it a home
or rest
Its feathers and bones part severally
Here’s one category for such a bird
Grallina cyanoleuca
One of the ways we know
what we don’t know
Or writing it down is another
‘I buried the peewee
so desiccated I couldn’t tell
its age or sex.
One of its wings had parted
from the rest.’
The soil is so much drier
this year
These things
irrevocable
fantastical perilous
Where we’re going
we don’t understand
but we know this happens
When they bury me burn me
finally homeless
home
(if there’s a small garden
of feathers
a large god of dust)
___________________________________________Jill Jones
Latest book, Viva the Real, from UQP
https://www.uqp.uq.edu.au/Book.aspx/1473/Viva%20the%20Real
Jill on Twitter
https://twitter.com/_jill_jones
########################################################################
To unsubscribe from the POETRYETC list, click the following link:
https://www.jiscmail.ac.uk/cgi-bin/webadmin?SUBED1=POETRYETC&A=1
|