Leda, After
       

I felt the needle go in.
I was in a swan body, I
was all down and feather
and puddles. Everywhere
I could hear myself calling.
I migrated away from my
Self. It was cold there.
Formations occurred
around me. The truth
is that the sound
of thousands of wings
flapping around you
is similar to a thousand
hooves of an army. From
the center you are bound
to be beaten, buried.
Even in air this can happen.
Even among your own.
Yet the current changed
and airborne I was
suddenly alone. All
clouds. The silence now
its own stampede.

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Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Morgan Frank All rights reserved
from Sometimes We're All Living in a Foreign Country
Carnegie Mellon University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission