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,
I’m ruptured, shattering descent
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.