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
Comments about For The Birds (New) by Alison Rosalie
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.