recent | upcoming | submissions | subscriptions | about | links | home
P O E T R Y
by Brigitte Byrd
|(a one-sided view of a tragedy)
Shall I pull out another picture from the past to escape this merciless spring. On ne doit jamais entrer dans le délire d'un malade.1 After all isn't April the cruelest month. There is a logical progression from initial uncertainty to manageable melancholy. I sit on his empty shell to dry out my wings. The wind carries a fragrance of freedom and the overall effect is lovely. Not unlike a guitar red against purple butterflies (Was it all it took? / Butterflies in the ear- / Swallowing a butterfly- / And then,what? / Wings grew on my back / like a deformity). Not unlike walls covered with yellow flowers to execute the impulse. Not unlike living in a blue dream. I spun a chrysalis with your solitude / sewed hooks to my heart for you to capture / jailed my desires like vicious villains. I almost drowned in that picture.
1 from Jean-Paul Sartre Le mur (1972)