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”.