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the essence that cannot be tracked
by Ava Blu
I can run through the hills where I didn’t just grow up,
I grew in-
side
and by
the side of someone else
the rolling of these hills became the Murdered
and I the Accomplice
covering up with a bed of leaves
but we did not remember to unlock the sky
and let the rains wash over our filth,
the death of birds
and a Spring not meant to remain warm
there are always two little mockingbirds at my window
and I am grateful for the awakening,
for being able to dive into someone else
when the floods come
we do not have an ark
and I am unable to
build anew
the hills are fresh with promise, though,
and I am singing again.
03/29/2009 Posted on 03/29/2009
Copyright © 2026 Ava Blu
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/29/09 at 08:02 PM I've always been envious of writers who can nail imagery that's personal and large scale at the same time. You do that better than anyone I can think of, and this poem proves that beautifully. Great languag and flow, and I especially like that first stanza. It grabs your attention and keeps it firmly in place. |
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