I Saw the First Robin

I have no fiction to spell
no hacksaw that severs nails
from the crown of thrones,
the education of rosebushes
or thorns, piercing palms
when seeking to collect blossoms
or the leather-fawned hills,
that freckle-frosted, lie
in pale decay; I saw them
when driving home, on my way
to put a chicken to roast in the oven
like a whole gift; to fulfill flesh
muttering about growth and green
under their breath, knowing
the patter of death, the quickening
as birth, the pushing red
and the peaking into the world;
panic is of no use to empty
spirits, to empty egg shells.

Author's Note

http://readwritepoem.org/blog/2010/02/12/read-write-prompt-114-all-over-the-map/

Reviews

[Emily B]

intelligent and lovely . . . you've moved on to greener pastures but your words are still here

[Doctor JKC]

Panic is never of any use. A feeble choice.
Children must be feed then grown with
our words.

Gorgeous work,
Jack/Sanand

[W.k.kortas]

Briefer than the general run of your work, but there are wonderful juxtapositions aplenty--robins and roast chickens, spring and death, blossoms and decay. Intelligent and lovely in its construction.

[Emily B]

I saw a robin the other day, fat little thing . . . far from the first one though

I like this one, it seems within easy grasp where some of your work is taller than I can reach.