Tuesday, February 20, 2024

Tuesday poem #568 : Summer Brenner : A BIRD SEES



what a bird sees on the glass is a garden of floribunda whorls of blossoms caracoles of petals concentric lines drawn with a compass

what man’s eye sees is a fragment of cloud no less beautiful than flowers but simpler with swaths of sky in between

what a bird sees is a hill of smoke and puffs of explosions animals falling and debris flying in every direction

what a woman sees is a child shattered by a bullet or a bomb a child’s limbs bloodied and broken a child’s shirt shredded along with a child’s skin

what a bird sees is a thicket of trees standing then falling flowers also falling roofs and windows cracked grass scorched blossoms exploding like stars

what a man sees is an enemy everywhere an enemy with no name strangers with guns or bombs with a task to kill whatever comes in view

I want to be a bird a flower or a cloud not a man with a gun or bomb not a task or target

Like the bird I want to fly from cruelty like the flower fold into kindness like the cloud float
over another land





Summer Brenner’s [photo credit: Michael Weber] books include short stories and novellas from Coffee House Press, Red Hen, and Spuyten Duyvil; poetry from The Figures; crime novels from Gallimard série noire and PM Press; and the occasional essay. Dust, A Memoir was published in early 2024.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

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