I anticipate that on some distant roof
there must be a man waving two distinct flags,
so as to direct the flock of birds flying above me. Crossing
his arms, the fabric folding and slipping against itself
in the wind, making a noise of snaps
and swooshes and billowing.
This thought suddenly makes my jacket
seem oversized; the sleeves feel lengthened,
drooping over my hands, as though
I were still a child at play,
putting on father's army jacket on Sunday morning
before church; him in a dress shirt
and black suspenders, shaving in front of the steamy
bathroom mirror.
And I notice that I can see my breath
as it escapes the sauna of my insides.
It disperses into the February air—
no man waving flags on a distant roof somewhere
to keep its molecules from scattering
in every direction.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 12:05 AM UTC
I anticipate that on some distant roof
there must be a man waving two distinct flags,
so as to direct the flock of birds flying above me. Crossing
his arms, the fabric folding and slipping against itself
in the wind, making a noise of snaps
and swooshes and billowing.
This thought suddenly makes my jacket
seem oversized; the sleeves feel lengthened,
drooping over my hands, as though
I were still a child at play,
putting on father's army jacket on Sunday morning
before church; him in a dress shirt
and black suspenders, shaving in front of the steamy
bathroom mirror.
And I notice that I can see my breath
as it escapes the sauna of my insides.
It disperses into the February air—
no man waving flags on a distant roof somewhere
to keep its molecules from scattering
in every direction.
Request permission to use this poem