lucybird

A poem by Jake Tringali

I.
two petite feet firmly planted on the ground
floor. the careers and the students lunch
nearby on benches. under rusty superstructures.
two avian eyes, inquiring,
the clockwork metro bustling about.

two legs stretch, a brief test, but the lucybird
cannot move. bodies approach, squawk directly.
lucybird cannot move, squawks back until
time moves forward, each hand moves wise
circular, until all lunch, every day every day

grey boston remains. adrift.

II.
winter snow pearlesques, streams grounding,
bleaching the dingy superstructures
curbside, citizens await the sun
only some lunch, stuck in this hour, this ground floor
lucybird’s mind flits about, also casts adrift
grounded within the complex

nor’easter thunders up the coast, approaching
eyes are cast upwards, outwards
without knowing, lucybird reaches forward to itch
a scratch
when news arrives

III.
a light
a flight
alight

landing
standing
understanding

lucybird arrives in los angeles
flies among sunny denizens
finding strangers also
learning to fly

lucybird
hovering
uncovering
discovering

unshackled
under marmalade sky, lucybird flexes
feels the answer is somewhere
in the atmosphere
soars, views the slaves below
and is above it
stratospheres with fires of desire
and stillness

Coda.
belly and eyes full of
the grotesques and the heavens
wings ruffled, gladly
wanderlust satiated

a return, the personal epilogue of lucybird
touring back to grey boston
still winter
still lunch
as she flits and glides
squawks and dives
like clockwork
landing
settling
sitting on a bench

Jake was born in Boston. Lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, now back in his home city. Runs rad restaurants. Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers.

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