The Fearful United
You’ve been born
out of too much hugging
and happenstance. You
need to accept these facts,
accept the place you call
home: halls filled with hungry
birds and flags perpetually
frozen, at half-mast. A cavalcade
of crows attach corncob feet
to the awnings above doors.
You’ve been looking for windows,
but windows are portals for rapists
and raccoons. You’ve had enough
of both. The bitter twittering of hand
upon hand shows a careful eye
who you’ve been, what you’ve seen,
where you’ve failed: the pagan gods
won’t take your grain. A man broke
You held electricity as if it were
an infant’s neck. Your sister helped
you scream. You sat on a toilet seat
for weeks hoping the bathroom lock
wouldn’t break. It had no need.
Doors can’t seep. You’re shrinking
as the sun grows thin. He’ll be hiding
while you sleep. You don’t trust
the moon, you see femininity as weak.
She’ll outlive your doubt, break your
glances upon beaks. Birds have reptilian
zeal. You know they love to eat.
Birdsong comes crashing. Sleep it off
You know art is faltering. Your body
sweats knowing the distasteful
manner of its girth. Breasts belong
to debutantes and daises, not to men
who bleat and build and weep.
Peter Burzynski’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming from The Best American Poetry Blog, Thin Air, Prick of the Spindle, Working Stiff, Thrush Poetry Review, Your Impossible Voice, RHINO, and Forklift Ohio, amongst others.