| CURRENT
ISSUE |
| |
| FEATURES |
| |
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| ABOUT
US |
|
|
| |
| |
|
|
| |
|
|
| SERVICES |
| |
| |
|
|
|
|
|
Papyrus
Acorn-brown, the girl's new nipples
draw the young men's rooster eyes.
A woman is fitting a man to her mouth,
breathing fire, holding on for dear life.
Green almonds in their shells: she
knifes them open one at a time and
hands him a slick teardrop, cool white
tasting cool white, nothing
compares with such austerities, although
the skull's honeycomb of bone
will break their hearts, who need hearts
like a bird's wishbone--to bend, unbend
at every feathery beat--wishbone hearts,
or something fleet and light like an ostrich's
leg-bone, that bears him to where--panicked
with grief--he can bury his head in sand.
Papyrus light: a scarf with black parrots on it
lifts in the breeze. And a real rare bird
about to fly: head in the clouds, his life
shrouded in the daylight he keeps breaking.
--Eamon Grennan
|
|
home