|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
Something is calling, you think.
A frantic chirp, the female cardinal
all worried about her oh-so-orange feathers
in this bleak winter. I am this sound.
I am the number
that frightens you. I am
mischief that happens
when math collides inside you:
I am your cells endlessly clicking….
I have been fishing for you, squatting
along the horizon as you wished
for space between us. To separate us.
Four o’clock in the morning
opens its mouth and you hear me speak.
You thought I spoke a sidereal
language, all celestial and singing.
This is the day for resolutions. I revolve
and the concatenation of six and six spins me.
Listen, I am here inside you.
What will you do with the rest of our wings?
About Carol Berg