Glass Poetry Press

Volume Six Issue Two

Christopher Prewitt

A Male and Female Cardinal

They spoke Chinese at first, then Spanish. On my empty clothesline neither was in love with the other. It's spring, the cherry blossoms are opening up, I guess I'll do the same. I have wrung the sponges of my hands so often even lotion now draws blood; a little chartered plane crashes in the mountains each day in my nerves. I am anxious for the ghosts in the shopping aisles of the dollar store to get angry with me. It's only a matter of time to be yelled at by the grass turning blonde again in the summer from another drought. Without trying I manage to do something so terribly wrong. There are nights I wake up holding my spine outside my body.