Member-only story
Blue Jay
Another stab at an abcderian poem
Acrid, burn these
broken days,
clouded by covid,
damned by the
elimination of hope.
Forgive me for
grieving that which did not exist
how was I so foolish to believe
it did?
Just yesterday, a bluejay
kited past my window,
landing on the shrub rose
mottled with frost.
Nasty birds, they say –
oh, but, so
pretty, so who is to
quibble at their visit?
Remind me when we
stopped making room for the imperfect, forgetting we share
the same backyards as both neighbor, bird, and god,
understanding shrouded by the constant
(e)xaltation of lies? Here we sit,
yawning lazily toward our own
zealous demise.
__
Gae is the author of several novels for readers of all ages, though shelved as tween and young adult. You can read more about her and her books at gaepolisner.com
