a harbinger for supper

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
autumn burns

Submitted: May 21, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 21, 2013




screaming geese

in fits of murderousness

as if mortar fire roared beneath them

and the very earth roasts

at the hand of

scraggy matchsticks

their writhing black fingers

burn uncoerced,

flicking ember-glitz

on the glassy sable streets,

to the fire-eating sky,

stars sloshing in its gut,

the acid of past seasons

in colored spray

Wilson's pond finds stillness

as a cold bottle smashed;

shards lift gray, jade and umber lights

through the smoky scent of tired wine

and vestigial heat

ripening air,

as only smoke, the human scald,

can make it soft and full,

becomes crisp breath

in haunted illogical patterns

of quick and slow

exhalation, as if all smouldering

has given up at once,

a collapse of fire

over the recumbent bones

of Sunday's fowl.

© Copyright 2019 Caroline Michaud. All rights reserved.

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