Saturday, November 24, 2007

New Poetry → Sparrow


Calico asleep at her side,
She murmured. Quaked may be the word.
Morning sun aslant, I set down the tray,
And looked at what I love
Most. In this world and any other.

You were restless, I say.
Bad dream. Bad, she repeats. Turns.
Hides, for I was in it. Again.

It is unfair, the tricks the mind plays.
I told her this, my hand in her hair
As the cat, yawning, stretched,
And jumped down.

Her back, in that moment,
Was a wounded sparrow.
So I touched it.
I brought orange juice, I half-whisper.

And what else? What else?

Moving the tray, I get back in bed.
I get next to my own heartbeat.
And eyes that have not yet been open
This day, know, and see
That the air beneath, will be safe.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007


Anonymous said...

Wow, this one is just so beautiful, "my own heartbeat". Too lovely.
When I lay there next to him I'll think of that line and how very accurate it is.
Absolutely the best. If my heart could only speak the words as well as you do....

Anonymous said...

I loved it too.

Another C ("Cherry").

Soph said...

I loved it the most.

Cleo said...

{deep intake of breath, tremulous sigh}

stefanie said...

oh Cip, beautiful!

cipriano said...

Thank you all, dear readers.
Dear, dear appreciaters of fine poetry!
-- Cip