Starling

Tail a fanfare and the devil's
kindling. Oh to be a rider
on that purple storm. Not
peacock or eagle but lowly
starling. Satan's bird,
spreading her spotted wings
over the Valley of Bones.
To build a home within her, stark
shanty for the soul, bonfire stoked
with pine-sap sage, smoke
rising through her ribs, her skin,
tainting the undersides of leaves.
Marrow house from which the one
wild word escapes, stave and barrel
world of want. Of late, my plush
black nest. My silver claw
and gravel craw. My only song.

Copyright © 2006 Dorianne Laux All rights reserved
from Bat City Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission