Thursday, February 4, 2016

February 4 -- Kathleen McClung

Behind the White Bird
     after Tatiana Lyskova’s painting, “White Bird,” 2008
Which one of us
holds tighter—you,
timid cockatiel, tall
as a snowman, crown
of green tendrils
curving above our heads?
Or me,
ruby red party dress
spraying past
my hairless thighs
into our kaleidoscope
of a room?
Entranced, claw
to wrist, I give you
a secret name,
whisper into your ear
a charm, a promise
I will break.
One palm
sinks in feathers,
the other, chiffon.
My lips, for now, press
only your white pillow skull.
We do not fly or sing.
 Previously published in Ekphrasis, Fall/Winter 2013
“White Bird” may be viewed at
Kathleen McClung is the author of Almost the Rowboat (Finishing Line Press, 2013) and her award-winning work appears widely in journals and anthologies. She teaches at Skyline College and the Writing Salon and serves as judge for the sonnet category of the Soul-Making Keats literary competition. A native of California, she lives in San Francisco.

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