I kept at it, my palm sticky and wet red,
Grabbing again and again, until I changed hands,
My right my left
The wounds grew jagged and wept and dried black
On the edges.
I’d been doing this a long time now,
Even though the flower had thrown me away she was the one who left
And then she’d choose me again
Draw me in with her pain until
I was gone
And the harsh words weren’t meant and didn’t matter anyway or shouldn’t
And so I’d tape my black edges back together to grasp her again
And fling myself into the hedges,
To show how far I’d leap for her.
Tasting iron blinded by the sun,
I’d fall smelling dust as I land
Held by her thorns as she pressed harder
I wasn’t wet enough for her
After all, for so long she bled me,
So I’d sit up and grasp again and again,
And yet she never let me hold her.
I was allowed to grasp but never pluck,
Touch yet she never was mine.
A Burd in Flight 