On Bat’s Wings

by Marina J. Neary


When I was eleven, fermenting like apple wine,
Snapping at the demons who were jerking my strings,
And the skin on my elbows and knees
Was full of sand and pieces of broken glass,
When the soles of my shoes gaped like two hungry jaws,
And my fingernails were like tiny black moons,
I met you — a boy with the moves of a trained puppy,
Who loved the collar around his neck.

Then I dragged you off your cotton-candy cloud.
Together we watched hawks crash
Into the blueberry cupola of the night sky.
Together we tossed Tarot cards on a rotten mattress
In the moldy, candle-lit attic
Where pigeons and ancient spirits moaned,
Where the dust spider webs trembled in the draft,
Rocking the long-dead victims to sleep.

I bet you didn’t know that wings of a bat
Could take you to heights unreachable to angels.


Copyright © 2009 by Marina J. Neary

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