By Kien Lam
A crow perches inside me.
Actually, it is a whale. It is hard to tell
by touch alone. Nothing I own ever looks
me properly in the eye. Sometimes
a loud caw at dusk feels
like the largest mammal on Earth.
A deep breath out the blowhole
into my stomach. One second it swims
and the next it is a small extension
of a tree. This is a kind of beginning—
a finger puppet show. The light
dancing around my hands.
Me dancing alone on a stem.
A persimmon blooms.
A boy learns a song and plants it
in an orchard. Inside of me
the large creatures change their shapes
to fit. A blackbird. An organ.
Animals with no names. I send them off
into the world daily. Little sadness
takes flight. Love is a brave child.
These things take the shape
of their containers.
I don’t have to do anything
to hold them.
Source: Poetry (February 2019)
Poet Bio
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