Poem – Nikki-Lee Birdsey
Birthday Song The date is sharp-edged, I pussyfoot around the real issue, as usual, wasting time on the fat maggots in the Jazz Apple’s core in the trash, how did that happen? How the name Dmitry falls out of symmetry, the word star out of stare. I stare at them. They remind me of chopping onions and I start to doubt the eventual sun. Ring refracts out of thing, moan out of moon, or fool, or koan, the Susquehanna out of the word Susannah, my mother’s name. The mouth of that river is Havre de Grace, where I stood once
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Tagged with: Issue 127
, Spring 2019
Posted in Poem