thaw

by Tara Roeder

 

when you  were young, lost in weeds, veined hand map alone to guide you,
arms slowly becoming wings, iridescent marrow in your bones,
plucking marbles for your nest,
when you returned in spring, beaked and plumaged,
head tilted sideways, eyes black as coal,
no one recognized your call,
your tale of melt and flight

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tara Roeder is the author of the chapbooks (all the things you’re not) and Maritime.  Her work has appeared in 3:AM Magazine, The Bombay Gin, Hobart, THRUSH, and other venues.  She is an Associate Professor of Writing in New York City.

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