This lovely, lovely poem is from Nancy Willard,’s “Swimming Lessons. New and Selected Poems,”
The Fruit Bat
Because the air has darkened
like bruised fruit, you creep
down the bare branch
where you slept all light long,
gathered into yourself like a fig.
Little mandarin woman fleeing
under the stars on bound feet,
when your wings spring open
even you look surprised.
What are the raven’s slick feathers
beside these pewter sails
raised in the foundry of your flesh,
burnished by light poured
from a wasted moon and a dipper
brimming with darkness?
Sunday, July 25, 2010
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From the compilation "Swimming lessons for Tasty "o"s, and diving lessons for Butterscotch flavored lifesavers"
by M,M & I.
The Fruit Loop
Because the cardboard sky has torn to dawn
like rolling rocks, you tumble
down to gaping bowl
Where you slept all night long,
huddled with your colored brothers.
Little grind stone wheels made of wheat
under a torrent of cold milk,
when your crunch will soggen
even you look surprised.
What are the Alphabet soup's slick quips
beside these plaintive cries
of primal protest, silent shrieking “O”s,
carried forth by faceless ferryman
spoon-shipped silently down the Styx
barge-poled into final darkness?
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