Could it be that you were laughing at me as you described the drama of my slide,
even my elegance as I careen
toward the metaphoric tree like a seal pup —bloated, tender and dumb—
your passionate gestures, the marvel! as a crowd gathers
your speech gains speed. I am large, then girl, then grain,
contracting suddenly without weatherproofing. I slip
beyond your boot as the story grows.
Secret Life of the Bird
Fate found the nest with the golden eggs.
So I dutifully slink on the disguise,
tailored tail feathers, porcelain beak.
I walk the walk.
They follow behind not aware
that sweat pools under the suit,
in my thighs. I shuffle along,
breath growing hot.
Faith draws perfect lines from them
to me. I’m a siren and
motherhood has fooled them.
Susan Alkaitis holds an MFA in dance from the University of Utah and currently lives in Colorado. Her poems have recently appeared inn Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and Slow Trains. contact