Twine a wet-paint brush
under the wing of a swallow
startle it into flocking,
spattering the day-dripped sky.
Plug a handful of little cut-out
letters in the hollow belly
of a cicada,
let the humming-dark body
vibrate tymbals
and rename the feel of sap
webbing your fingers.
Drip salt
along the earth
and wait for the reed-thin
snake to curl through the white,
undressing a causeway
of slipped sound.
Loop a cinnamon-red balloon
around a stone, drop it
into the acre pond
and watch cloud cover
pass over the glass-smooth
surface, dance in an abandoned
warehouse of wind,
float over rows of neatened rooms
where children hide, hiss their breath
and pitch-missed notes into plastic flutes,
again, again and again.
About Megan Merchant
Megan Merchant writes most of her poems and translations during nap time. You may have read them in publications including the Atlanta Review, Kennesaw Review, Margie, International Poetry Review and The Poetry of Yoga. She was the winner of the Las Vegas Poets Prize, judged by Tony Hoagland. She is the author of two chapbooks : Translucent, Sealed (Dancing Girl Press, 2015) and In the Rooms of a Tiny House (ELJ Publications, October 2016). Her first full-length collection, Gravel Ghosts (Glass Lyre Press), will be making its way into the world summer of 2016. Her first children’s book will be also appearing in 2016 through Philomel Books. Her future is bright. She wears shades.
One Comment
Wonderful poem, Megan!