Forgetting the order of letters.
Birdsong standing by, our elbows
adrift somewhere. Let us have
a lake right here. Early belonging
is a symptom of running out of life.
Let us have a violent pursuit.
Elbows too sharp against
the other's teeth, exaggerated
crow's feet manifesting
on the older faces in the act.
I do not like birds; I don't know
why I use them.
For months I dreamt of nothing
but beaks under my cuffs,
disintegrating. I've been
told that if you die away
from home, a rooster can return
your soul. I've been told that
owls are not what they seem,
that swallows are descendant
from a ravaged woman.
I believe some of it. There is
no possibility in remembrance.
Other months went dream-less,
until a pair of brown sparrows
appeared, rotting in my sock,
their eyes no longer holding shape.
©
writes poems, studies the Caucasus, and lives in Brooklyn, NY most of the year.
Kaganova’s poem “Unimortal” also appears in this issue.
