Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Susan S. Keiser - One Poem


They fall from cliffs and promontories every night,
naked stubs of malformed wings too trivial
for flight or other sophistries.

On morning walks we see them, sometimes,
still, but breathing; so few signs of struggle,
pulsing buds of specious equanimity.

Some new kind of non-singular sunbird maybe,
bypassing ashes and myrrh,
borne aloft on winged paralogisms?

I wish I remembered dawns by the cool well
or could recall sun-stopping melodies,
but it's all cliffs and promontories these days.

I feel weary with worn and tawdry bits of feather;
with rebirth as a tiresome expectation.

Susan S. Keiser’s checkered past includes a stint as a high school English teacher, a docent gig in a museum dedicated solely to the poetry of Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, ongoing commitment to a highly specialized literary marketing outfit and a brief fling as a pastry chef. She also spent years as a bank executive. Her poems have appeared in decomP Magazine, Orion headless, fourpaperletters, Right Hand Pointing and Aquillrelle Magazine and she is at work on a book in which both kudzu and ice fishing figure prominently.

1 comment:

  1. Such weariness expressed so beautifully...
    "Pulsing buds of specious equanimity..."