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Charged
“In this year terrible signs were seen in the skies over Northumberland, and people were horribly afraid. There was incredible lightning, and fierce winds, and fierce dragons could be seen flying through the air.”
-From the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 793 A.D.
You see them hanging from power lines.
Like tennis shoes. Fruit bats that land
on conductors, perhaps in search
of a blossom, throwing the entire grid
into short circuit. They almost look natural,
leathery wings draped over charred upside-down
torso, skull still steaming. Mummified on the wires,
the crisp thin skin and matted black fur
burns your nostrils while lights flicker house
to house, the air a whisper smoking
through basements and attics like a cloud
in the night sky, invisible except
to the part of you that starts when the power
goes out, stands and walks to the window
as though Death is going to be on
the stoop, cold bone crowned in shadow,
robe flitting while the wind claps its wings.
-From the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 793 A.D.
You see them hanging from power lines.
Like tennis shoes. Fruit bats that land
on conductors, perhaps in search
of a blossom, throwing the entire grid
into short circuit. They almost look natural,
leathery wings draped over charred upside-down
torso, skull still steaming. Mummified on the wires,
the crisp thin skin and matted black fur
burns your nostrils while lights flicker house
to house, the air a whisper smoking
through basements and attics like a cloud
in the night sky, invisible except
to the part of you that starts when the power
goes out, stands and walks to the window
as though Death is going to be on
the stoop, cold bone crowned in shadow,
robe flitting while the wind claps its wings.
Posted 02/24/10
First appeared in Roanoke Review 33 (Spring 2008)
Comments (1)
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This is the first poem I ever published in print. It's actually based on a conversation I had with an Australian guy on a porch in Roanoke, Virginia. He was couch-surfing at one of my friend's places while riding his bike from Princeton, NJ to Guatemala. But he told me how in downtown Sydney, it's a regular thing to see fruit bats draped over powerlines, having electrocuted themselves in search of a place to roost. I just couldn't get that image out of my head, and thus the poem. Here's a link to what he was talking about: http://www.batrescue.org.au/images/PowerLines.jpg
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02/26/10 6:51am
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