
Self Portrait Done In A Pet Scan
Published May 21, 2023 by rlmcdermott
How did
this happen;
dead beneath
the headlines–
blue metal,
blue bird,
blue child?
Imagine
the moment,
the sharp
slap of air,
the ferocious
snap of wing,
and then
the still
and certain fall.
And you,
the child,
all breakable
bone; your
arm twisted
until it spiraled
out of its socket,
and like the
bird fell
down.
On a cold Sunday,
inside a newspaper,
beside a metal dumpster
two things dead–
a bird and a child.
this is the
moment that
has been
hunting you
you are left
with only
a pen and
a blank book
to rewrite
your life
remember
the day that
you took two
hundred pills
and laid down to die
where’s the difference
between a soldier with a gun
and you with a vial of pills
you both alter flight
you hear your future
a dangerous cat
padding down the
corridors of it’s
accidental habitat
the rattle of pills
still in your brain
their coated surfaces
dissolving as memory
spills into your periphery
yet you go on
a predator of your
own life sleeping
in the shade of forgiving
trees until sunset when
the wild bird sings and
moonlight enters your dreams
She sang
in the bathroom–
high notes,
clear,
chaste,
contralateral.
A songbird puffing
cigarettes between breaths,
all was illegal about those years–
the teased hair,
the shaved eyebrows,
the rolled-up skirt.
Violetta everywhere,
father dying
on a red-velvet couch.
Where were the old dreams,
the dreams her parents had for her;
there was a truth to them
that she ignored–
the bottle-shaped dreams
of an alcoholic father,
the woman in the kitchen
silent for forty years
now heard for the first time,
a half-forgotten song,
snatches of melody,
lingering in her memory.
They gave her a watch
so she could know time was running out.
She listened to the ticking; rhythmic
like a song, like a poem,
an alliteration of small explosions
striking the final destination.
The days of summer and sadness,
the little girl heart beating badly,
the pills stolen from a dying father,
the butcher knife hidden in a rotting mattress,
the poems packed in a yellow suitcase–
songs saved for another day.