Songbird: A Poem

*This is a piece from an ongoing poetry series by Cecilia Ruvinsky*

Seventeen iron kisses on my thighs,

and each one stings like peppermint toothpaste when I walk.

One month,

and the headache of him remains.

My mother is confused,

because she can’t see what I’m staring at on the wall,

and to be honest,

I can’t either now.

When she says my name,

the fairies and the phantoms

that made my eyes perfect glazed donuts disappear,

and the close-to-death bird in my throat

hums out an apathetic “yes?”

because she has forgotten her song,

and I have forgotten what must have been a beautiful piece of art

on that now comparably bland turquoise wall.

The highlight of my life

is now broccoli cheddar soup,

and I whimper and ask for the sunflower scarecrows

that wave at me from my window

to save me please –

kill me please –

but they only gaze upon me with pity

and turn their attention to the west.

They need the sun,

and I am anything but.

One month,

and the headache of him remains.

• artistry
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