The Feedback
The feedback from my magic singing lesson,
(in my best Anne Sexton accent):
“I am tired of being brave”.
What would my grave say,
To this blushing new thought,
Of which so many dead men have said,
(in their tethered army costumes):
“I’ve killed for you; your loose brow, and tiny smile”.
I mutter like a possessed witch,
(a ten fingered woman, but not quite):
“I am not ashamed to die”.
What would my grandmother say,
To this disalarmed breakfast skillet,
Of which she has provided fire,
(in her Missouri accent of Guatemala):
“I’ve waved my arms from that car,
fixed supper for the wolves and elves,
and they aren’t ready for your kind”.