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Even Oak Trees Crumble

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betwixtthepages

Published: Jun 6, 2014

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Literature Text

Little wing, your feathers
alter, like I am apiece--

twist-limbed and back-bruised,
your words are a wound
and I cannot remember,
after all these years,
what it is you seek,
so tell me again.

You are six shades of sadness,
you are the singe on skin,
but what they didn't tell me
is there are many endings.

It's time to let it go.

Tonight,
you mustn't forget that poetry
is like a tribute to denial--
it is abrupt when it comes.

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This is a first-line poem for bloodawni, who won it from me for participating in DailyLitRecognition's Scavenger Hunt. She requested I piece together a poem using the first lines of stuff in her gallery. If you haven't checked out her gallery yet, you should definitely do so now!

June 6th, 2014