The Crane

Published November 12, 2014 by rlmcdermott

Did you
know that
I am dying

that I am
like a blue
crane flying

riding thermals
without wings
life is such
a fickle thing

it’s so hard
to let you go
yet so easy
to live alone
how could
I have loved
a moon that
never shines for me

am I grieving you
or grieving me
so long this dying
has to be–
a day a night
spent in the sky
who loves me
loves to flyThe Last Cranes Flying

The Bone Singer

Published August 29, 2014 by rlmcdermott

and in her
turning is
a turning

back to
the blue
lichen
and fleshy
moss dripping
from bare
trees where
wild gods sit
and play
songs on
white bone

she has
grown old
underneath
a silent moon
waiting for
something
that never
comes–
to be loved again

and as
her small
feet strike
stone a
note is
struck
on bone
white bone
that sings
of home–
a place she’s
never known The Bone Singer

The Lament Singers

Published August 19, 2014 by rlmcdermott

In a desert
of mecury
nations of
unkept women
rest like squat
beetles on
all fours–
listening with
ears buttoned
to the ground.

They can
hear voices
echoing in
their heads,
whispering
of immolation,
hearts buring
in the afternoon,
birds soaring
in the sky.

There is no
comfort in
the keening
breeze, what
was blue
has turned
to red, falling
bombs have
gleaned their
husband’s bones
and left their
children dead.The Lament Singer

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