I’m going to go ahead and post a poem. Because I spent all weekend reading and listening to poetry at the Second Annual New York City Poetry Festival on Governor’s Island, and dammit, this shizzle is fo’ rizzle! (That rhymed! Ah, poetry is everywhere!!)
Broad Strokes
I will never rip a single bird
from among its flock, spread low over the field,
and devour it raw
there amidst the ankle-high autumn cornstalks.
I am not that specific.
But it’s possible
I’ve been pulled so hard
from above and below
at one time,
stretched even by my own doing,
that near my belly-button
there could be a single
fine
strand
of me
stronger than the guts
that holds together stubbornly.
This piece may be
so fine
that if you were to twist,
you could paint what I am
in gorgeous script
on a single starling’s eye.