The three-note song, the shallow remembrance
echoes I can feel lapping at me: fractal magic,
a study in layers, a natural pattern of macro-micro.
The sophisticated eye of the cinnabar-winged
black-bird knows its way around a marsh, knows
cattails stiff and bobbing; plopped unwittingly
miles away, it would still carry on the way it does
calling in the evening, rutting through the night
a study in place.
If my atoms bar the touch of you, why shouldn’t
the other parts of me? Trees, birds, they know the story:
instinct bears the ending, siphons doses of grief, loss
from water-wicked wings. But atoms, all they do
is buzz. And the spine
doesn’t tell the parts of the story I need to hear.
About Michele K. Johnson:
Michele K. Johnson is a first-year MFA candidate at George Mason University where she works in the University Writing Center. She has been published once before in The Ampersand Review and received the Edward T. Lewis Poetry Award from her undergraduate establishment, St. Mary's College of Maryland.