inside out

My Heart's on My Sleeve

Not a raglan sleeve, a Juliette sleeve,

and certainly not a poet sleeve with

lacy ruffle on the cuff; it's more of a

cap sleeve close to the left shoulder joint

that still aches when rains clog Portland gutters.

 

Needled black, red, blue ink reveal raven's

tale - how he tricked the magician who

stole the sun. Raven transformed into a

feather, floated down the river, captured

in a basket, drunk by magician's daughter,

deep in daughter's belly, the feather

became a baby, magician's grandson.

 

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