235 Readings | 0 Ratings

Last Redbird on the Flushing Line

                         for Miriam

In another city we wake to brightening,
find whales pitching behind, their serenade
chambered. Tongues reflecting, we lie wire-

spoked, mouths gapped in tandem. I listen
for the measured heart unmastered. I’ve lost
oceans between your pulse and breath, sheltering

under a vaulted ribcage. When they sank
the #7, people bought tickets, stood
on the bow and cheered as each red memory

dove. Who heard the reefs whispering? You will die
speechless, waiting for the green flash.
They imagined
each scoured car rocked gently to sleep. Repeat

the metaphor. The singular illusion; a blue
whale beached, rotting a lost lullaby, a red
day forgotten in this fading light.
Posted 09/02/13
from The Interior Structure
Comments (0)