Saturday, June 20, 2020

Swan Song II: Echo
















Ken Lund
CC Commons License. Some Rights Reserved.

Echo, he said. The voices of flour sacks 
reached higher on the treble clef, rising;
a utopia instead of a scream
erupted like dark on planet's backs.
There was a falling on the table, jacks
tumbled out of a little girl's fist, seams
even berries, red threads of Levi's jeans.
Her earring collection was in a rack
in her jewelry box of green velvet,
she threaded blue and white marbled
beads on silver, and grew into a swan
from an ugly duckling, when the heat melted.
It was past giving Valentines, garbled
a new society in deep fawn.