by Sharon K. McClain


What if a raptor is my sister.
What if there is a telephone ringing in its body

That can only reach me.
What if I find a cradle exploded

In a bar. Body parts confused,
Floating overhead.

I’m ruptured, shattering descent
Outside reconciliation.

What if the bottle is a dagger.
What if my lungs dissolve from

the Sorrow. I don’t know
How I lost her, but my hands

Endure, because I have to

What if the sky, Rorschached, unravels.
Scanning for a sign in the cumulused canopy,

I hear incantations from drifted wood.
My carcassed heart

Strung on stormed line,
A deadweight fall.


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