Tom Thompson

Tweezers Free a Girl

Constance plucks an eyebrow into a fine line. A starling
             pecks a moth (speckled, frantic)
into dull portions of flight. So. Invisibles

             are invincibly legion. A girl enacts perhaps
with her feet. Rattling her patents over a lawn
             all public and thick with plates of maple bark.

Wind dies. A girl refuses each directive to halt
             and mourn herself. Roof chips fall, flash,
fall from apartments that crouch

             and effervesce behind the leaf scrim. Grackles,
too, sparrows, robins, chickadees:
             all these nervous squads ripple out

between spotted, straight-laced maples. Constance remains
             ungiving around her improvised
may poles la da la di-

             elms rehearse a strict parade in their heads
while their limbs snip flounces
             out of updraft and groundcover, layering a sky

within the sky. One that finally pushes back.

The Virgin's Got Her Bachelors, Even
Mode et Accessoires Femmes


© 2002 Electronic Poetry Review