… now renewed.

By J. K. McDowell

July 2011

 

The crow with no voice says that the emotional

Cocoon we are spinning only has room for one.

So my Friend, your new wings will have to lift us both.

 

A tall ice coffee captures the moist Cajun air

In crystal droplets.  There are days when that is a

Whiskey, but not today.  Take another sip.

 

A live oak embroidered on the pillowslip,

Now, the winding sheets.  Before the first stitch, the needle

Is threaded – shouldn’t we live before we die?

 

Her poems?  They were coded seductions or

Mutual butcherings.  Ah, but Her breath lifts me

To heights where the veil is removed and I see Her form.

 

Often I am the clinging vine, dead, still faithful, holding the

Wrought iron fence close.  Rust and decay are my only

Solace.  Dead ways of living are hard to release.

 

Curled maple leaves dream they are claws, yet crackle

And crumble as they scratch the sleepers face.

Jim, silence and dust come later, rise now renewed.

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