"Paper Tigers"
Turn it over, it will scoop up
a lot of you. A lot of dried wings.
Saskia Hamilton
I dream the road-kill wet. Live things trumpeting the trees. Amid the verdancy
of Vasse, I grieve you. Car forced onto gravel like a faithful bullet
loving flesh. White clematis ushers your scent and I seal every fogged window
with the tigers you would origami as a boy. I smooth each crease, ridge and fold,
calm each skittish animal, count each aloud. Nurse them to my breast. Summon you.
How grandly your strokes anoint my back. Fleur de luce scribed between shoulder
and blade. You tickle laughter, distorting the image. The tattood morse
sends a conversation of birds to the nape of my neck, to brim and lip.
You scoop them and your animals die a little
mourn my headlights.
Their ‘yes' whipcracks across fields.
Blood dries like rain.
© 2009 Zefuyn (Melanie Firth)
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