A treatise on my cowardice

I start with one woman crying.
She carries a barbed wire egg basket in each swollen hand.
I place her in the Rio Gallinas,
make her force skirt against ice shelf.

Walk, lady, walk,
walk chicken river.

I start with nuns. They raise habit.
They chant Isaiah, rise ay ah.
They chant for the river for the woman for the eggs.
A tear collects in St. Jude's right eye.
The protector will not help.

Help.

Chant, women, chant,
chant chicken river dry.

I start with one woman crying.
She is me.
I race river, shuttle egg,
egg drops,
crack against chicken memory.

My memory.

I am chicken, a chicken, a river nun.
The yolk colors the river yellow, scared, coward.

I am a river nun.
I chant chickens across,
the barbed wire eggs
decorated with careful drops of type A blood.
Virgin of Rio Gallinas blood let blood.
I am a river nun, an action virgin,
the only spheroid egg I still hold.

It is not broken.

I start with winter,
the ice, frozen eggs,
encapsulated potential.

I start with a donkey.
He waits on the west bank.
Stubborn donkey, stubborn,
back legs fixed in frozen soil,
mud solid through with chicken shit,
unholy mole.

Walk, lady, walk.

I walk.
I press against the ice.

It yields.

Comments

[Jonah]

I really like this.

[Rick]

A dark dream Odyssey through wimple and wires where blood types code the compass, where siren and muse compete. Creator and hero are one, casting the dilemma.

[Birdie]

Thanks Jonah and Rick. This is one of my favorite poems I've written.