Monday, January 18, 2010

Necessary Medicine

“The wren lives in brakes and crevices -Aristotle Historia Animalium IX.xi
“The hand does not divide into hands nor the face into faces. –Aristotle Historia Animalium I.i

This is the way things are: the wren skids between cirrus curls,
bark-brown against the suffering blue of afternoon


The tube that leads from the generator to my boy’s mouth
is clear and lined with pin-prick drops that bebop along

the metonymic chain should be swallowed slow--the wren
will ride on broader wings, hidden within the plumage of within

He does not breathe without the presence of my hand against the mask--
vapors, ravaged metals, enter his throat like rapids fall from fissured stones

The wren will be crowned king of birds, cunning in yellowed plume
watered-yellow as the eye of the broad-backed glider it rode upon


This is the way things are: I cannot see inside my boy.
His lungs I failed to build may be etched with blue vessels

The miniature mechanic of the sky will sail down on razor feathers--
its clever ascent guided by necessity.


He leans into me, slow. His belly, all that living estuary,
fits in the palm of me. The lungs I failed to build I flood with mist.

Reconstruction is made possible with wings and tubes

5 comments:

Jenny said...

Megan,

Now I have updated the feature, so that you are this week's poet.

Thanks for posting a new poem. I like the dense richness in this one. Beautiful writing!

I absolutly love this part:

"The wren will be crowned king of birds, cunning in yellowed plume/
watered-yellow as the eye of the broad-backed glider it rode upon"

PO Johnson said...

Enigmatic, powerful and beautiful poem. Here are my favorite section:

"The miniature mechanic of the sky will sail down on razor feathers-- /
its clever ascent guided by necessity"

amd

"The lungs I failed to build I flood with mist" Wow!

Ande said...

Isn't reconstruction what we hope for? Most things will go wrong for most people; let's go for another chance.

I re-read your poems. Your "Sunken Head" poem is brilliant. The punk attitude coupled with dread makes it wonderful.

Francis Scudellari said...

I like the way you alternate between the images of the wren and the boy, and then bring the two together in the final line. The repetition of "the lungs I failed to build" is very powerful.

Megan said...

Thank you all for your kinds words.

Jenny, I'm honored to be the poet of the week. Thank you.

PO, I like to think of a wren as a little mechanic. They're such cunning creatures.

Ande, I'm glad you like "The Sunken Head..." And yes, reconstruction is what I hope for everyday.

Francis, thank you. I was hoping the alternation would work.