Cedar Waxwing
by Carol Lischau

Your body compels my gazing—

droplets on tail,

wing, and crown

are daffodil, redcurrant,

moon-gray light.

Museums of you descend

and shadow the ground,

picking out what’s left
from the storm—

leaf litter, shards

of bedrock, melting hailstones.

The thin reed voice cries

to your mate

from your thornapple perch,

a cluster of delicate berries still
fastened to the branch.

Trilled exchange
of darling, come split the remnant,

of yes, tell me again

and again that I’m yours.

The heart and belly filled,
each savored haw red as blush.

Every warble intoxicated

with charity.


Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 1.

Carol Lischau received her Master of Arts degree from the University of North Texas Creative Writing program. She was a semifinalist in the 2016 Literary Awards for the Tucson Festival of Books, and her poems have appeared in magazines such as Notre Dame Review, Common Ground Review, and Pulse Magazine. Lischau currently resides in Denton, Texas.

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