Originally sold to Forgotten Ground Regained and Alliteration, who have spearheaded the modern revival in alliterative poetry and catalogued all of my alliterative poems in their archive’s index.
Schools of minnows scrape in a whip
like blue cookie dough in a Kitchen
Aid done up in Darke County.
Comes surfacing, the cormorant, black,
waits to hunt and dives in a wash.
And we wait and watch patient.
Too patient for air or a birdheart pulse.
A linger longer is what Lucas Roughly's
childhood church named chairs and tea
after service. See the cormorant?
Not yet have ye? It's a Ye Eld
Linger Longer. Lapse in the breath,
death in the bone. Where is the bird
who was diving? Where is the feather
that flew on the waves? How long can
waiting go, water crow?
You will think there's a turn, a truth like a sonnet.
The prestige of the trick is we tried forever
to watch it surface. See: no bird.
No haunt of a bird. Neither here nor there nor...
I can only conclude the cormorant shadow
disappeared
or
drew its shade
into its surest form: the wereshark.
Poetry prompt:
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Write your own poem, long or short, about some mythical bird
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Paste it into the comments, click “share as a note,” and share it here.
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