• Gastropoda

Passerine by Rowan Waters

Walking now

through the year

I tried to fly,

when I hung at the bottom

of a chimney,

how I landed on the wall

above the piano,

how I fell into the black

top and

hid.


The air tells me I am desperate.

to be a crow,

a finch,

whisper yes to a sparrow

& speak

from a bag

of teeth or

be carried as a burden.


The birds and I,

gurgling,

chamber music

and wanting

something about limits fancy

and flights.


I imagine this: the eagle

descending

on the sled

and snatching

it, the bushtit

in the cage,

the owl peering out,

Rubies throbbing

through

the streets

And waiting

for me

in the wind.




 

Rowan Waters (they/them) is a queer poet and MFA candidate hailing from the forests of the PNW, currently living in Oakland, California. With a deep fondness for all things creepy, crawly, and understoried, their poetry attempts to use language and sound as a means to enact the interrelations of the human and more-than-human world. They have previously published poems in The Cooper Point Journal and TheElephant Room Zine.

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