A couple poems originally written for my creative writing class.
Hangnails
Plates chip and make naked grooves
Like glass, they crack,
shatter—
Like a break-in scene, shards sharp,
each sliver.
Oh, to lick lacquer,
to clamp cuticles.
The thread of skin to pull
and rip
into a winding red river.
To scrape with only fingertips—
the chalkboard screech turns smooth.
Layered paint keeps the bed sturdy,
But my aching mouth, clippers for teeth
so needy, clicking.
My once-elegant claws
shrivel into stubs.
Bright Clean Birds
Your beak,
bowed to chest
Your feathers,
groomed with honey and spit
You rest on your twig pew
As your scarlet tufts
rage against orca sky.
You slurp worms in secret,
Crafting beds out of street mud
and broken sticks,
All to hold
the last minutes of your snoozing youth.
Hear the pointed crow
sing jealous jeers
As he longs for your
careful flute solo
While your window audience
Jerked from the corners of their sleep
Longs to cork your velvet trill
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