His large and clumsy fingers fumbled
with the clasp of a leather strap.
He fed it around my neck, then
twisted the red pendant that hung above my breast.
“It’s a bird caller.” He said,
as a pitchy squawk startled my ears.
He dropped it into my smaller hands
And I pinched the vessel
Finger and thumb, finger and thumb,
I too released the pent up call –
Each trill received an echo that answered from the trees,
I willed a conversation that started with the spring.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
His large and clumsy fingers fumbled
with the clasp of a leather strap.
He fed it around my neck, then
twisted the red pendant that hung above my breast.
“It’s a bird caller.” He said,
as a pitchy squawk startled my ears.
He dropped it into my smaller hands
And I pinched the vessel
Finger and thumb, finger and thumb,
I too released the pent up call –
Each trill received an echo that answered from the trees,
I willed a conversation that started with the spring.
"You're a better unconscious writer."
Request permission to use this poem