For The Birds (New) - Poem by Alison Rosalie
trees tick-tock, their leaves
shiver and wither and stiffen;
the snow rarely descends, yet.
geese teeter, switching chilly feet
atop the lakes edged in ice.
the moon is nowhere to be seen.
each green grays or browns
but i am still sick with envy;
sycophancy has yet to seem serene.
my eyes are olive.
my heart careens.
at the back of my head
as i stand still at the window gleam
half voyeuring the twitter birds
half examining the passing ghosts
envying anything that is not me.
it is not peroxide locks i want.
it is not sapphire eyes i desire.
it is not grand stature i am after.
only, if my curtain of tresses shone like goldleaf
rather than hanging like wet hay, i could gaze out like
an angel in a frame instead of a warbler in a window pane.
if i could replace my transfixed stare rigid as a hawk's
with something a little more lively, maybe i could refrain
from wincing your way and suspiciously stalking your gawk.
if i was just a tiny bit taller it wouldn't be so tough
to stand up straight and stare you in the eyes
unwaveringly as the crow flies.
if i had any rational reason to look
at the surface instead of straight through
maybe i could admire what i see
and learn to believe
that what you love isn't
or cyan eyes
or commanding stature
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The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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