Megan Breiseth

Under the black and purple skies

for Donna de la Perrière
 
 
We cut our hair
In the garden
 
For any caster
Any curse
To find
 
When we open the egg
There’s blood inside
 
The righteous response
To the murderous world is
What
 
An electrical storm
A trick
The weapon in
anything
wild
 
I got it twisted
 
Thought I wasn’t happy
Because I wasn’t good
 
Flannery knit coats
For her chickens
 
Filled her farm with peacocks
 
We echo
Take forever
 
Arrange our color story
And try not to mess it up
 
Listen
The fire doesn’t roar
 
It’s high winds
It’s feet on twigs
A room of glasses clinking
 
Rain on ice at sea
 
I admit
The different handwriting
I dreamt
Embarrassed me
 
I stored it in my hip
 
The cool star jitters
In my body
Moment
 
A whistling of time in the ears