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sometimes the tongue scampers off with the mouth, brain not yet on its feet, before words perch like sparrows on the rim of teeth before a subconscious cue, one dark pair of eyes to the next, before the whole flock takes flight. Words swirl through the mind, leave behind one falling feather.
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excavate the space, wiggle your fingers beneath the web of weed roots. Pull words until your nails grime black, follow the central vine all the way to the seed, cast aside random earth worms, a stone from a cherry, a female spider shriveling around her egg sac. excavate the darkness, dig until your skin cracks, your nails break. dig for the melody, the threnody of blackbird voices priming murmuration, heading into the teeth of it.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 1.
Rachael Ikins is a 2016/18 Pushcart, 2013/18 CNY Book Award, 2018 Independent Book Award winner, & 2019 Vinnie Ream & Faulkner poetry finalist. 2021 Best of the Net nominee. She is a Syracuse University graduate. Author/illustrator of nine books in multiple genres. Her writing and artwork have appeared in journals world wide.
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