UNTITLED TYPEWRITER POEM NO. THIRTEEN

13

Bluejay pecking
at the cherry blossom tree
delivered from Japan,
you are home with me.

When I feel discomfort,
likes beads of sweat along my neck,
I’ll recall the bluejay at home
and the way it used to peck.

If I could fall into a rhythm
just as the bird has in my tree,
who’s to say the rhythm
could not fall straight into me?

But who am I to say,
when I feel a tightness in my neck,
the pain isn’t from miming the bluejay
and the way it used to peck?

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