from PARTICIPANT
Linda Russo
maybe the birds are a clunky metaphor
because the desire is
so ridiculous
what about tomorrow
doted upon
in a subtle display of persistence
seamless company of birds and bees
separated by invisible boundaries
(And Birds take Places)
unaware of the internal maps
we carry and stretch and thicken
thrilling and daring as uncertain
as a potential or future
participant
my wings a feature
my organism an homage
to wind in trees
that make it habitable
we’re fucked when the soft syllables fade
don’t soften and call it greenspace
I wasn’t going to
(Bliss is That)
I’m not forest folk but when I get in the woods
I’m not like an old-fashioned little flower any more
I’m not a farmer but when I step in a field
the ceaseless rhythms settle me
breathy sips and wit chips
it’s not usually so still
the daily grasps of birds’ feet
are an estate we inherit
flashing from tree to tree
it’s a skill they teach
in furious pulsing greens
not to fuck with your nests too much
it’s too still in this spot
the solid traffic backdrop
bells sound from a far tower
(Breath is This)
a single skilled chickadee cracks the facade
I’m half in the park half in my yard
all asunbeam
all waiting for the moon
Linda Russo is the author of two books of poetry, most recently Meaning to Go to the Origin in Some Way (Shearsman Books, 2015); The Enhanced Immediacy of the Everyday (Chax Press) and a collection of lyric essays, To Think of her Writing Awash in Light, selected by John D’Agata as the winner of Subito Press inaugural creative nonfiction prize, are forthcoming. She lives in the Columbia River Watershed, tends garden plots, and teaches at Washington State University. She is online at inhabitorypoetics.blogspot.com.
