Sally Rosen Kindred

In Issue 2 on November 1, 2008 at 11:50 am


Sparrows of nightbreak, sparrows of moss—
birds of Watauga Creek rise
through sleep to lift me

from small bed to chipped porch
before light dries the grass and splits
the house to waking. This morning we leave

for somewhere far—Richmond, Atlanta,
let my father or mother remember. Mine
is the secret body laying claim. Air

stirs out apples and the silver sea of feet
soft through weeds. The trees
won’t speak: they could be glass, they could rattle

like bells or angels. They might never
take back hands like mine. Moss in the face now:
wet pearls green my cheek. I need

to press into this place, need my lips
on the underside of a broken nest
tipped beneath the sweetgum. They say

we’ll come back, as if back
were a dreaming thing some muddy flapping
could flame awake. I need

to grow bracken wings that kiss
and extinguish this first leaving—
the silent body’s cry,

the marrow’s birds burning.

Sally Rosen Kindred: My chapbook Garnet Lanterns was winner of the 2005 Anabiosis Press Chapbook Contest, and I received a 2007 Individual Artist Fellowship from the Maryland State Arts Council. My poems have appeared in journals including Blackbird, Poetry Northwest, Spoon River Poetry Review, Passages North, and RUNES.

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