Wilting like a single stem out of water
baby sister meticulously fawns
his beardless chin tucks into cigarette-stained wings
with cocaine nails he plucks at wires across black wooded hollow
crow’s feet stamp the corner of each eye
brass strings drag at the tip
from the ground up his voice rings
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night”
pause
press
pluck
pause
pull
peck
“Take these broken wings and learn to fly”
tones drip from his lip
into a bucket
like the one Sal carries
I carried them toward Hosford Pond
on a sled past the shed through vines
the rope he pulled wrapped tight
the same strength that pinned me down in the basement
spitting chewed-up words into my mouth
as bundled fists forbid to me sing
until Momma’s voice loosed his grip
and set me free
as free as one could be
with broken wings
The Word Mill 