Due to limited control of our formatting on posts, the formatting of the following poem is incorrect.
I’ve always thought that synapses traveled
on wings riotous through the wires
and that the one that joined us two
had indigo feathers
and yes, it bucked and threw,
gnashing against these alchemizing scarcities
these elixirs sent down in beads from
the ozone where you are
but I never minded
because freed from the snarl of flight
your words unfurled
crescent-moon feathers curved over chiming bones
your voice arriving
a murmuration of starlings, awash in a tapestry of roots,
their migrations kept
according to whatever constellations
scattered them down
you came to me in fits and starts
through honeysuckle barbed-wire
as lightning, spasming into flight
with its two searing wings
and I sing of the cacophony we make
every scribble pixel syllable
meeting in mid-air
Brianna Cunliffe is an environmental justice advocate and writer from North Carolina. She has been the writer-in-residence on the Bowdoin Scientific Station on Kent Island, and her works focused on the sweet precarious of cherishing a world on the tipping point of climate crisis have appeared in Reckoning, Blind Corner, Storm Cellar, Claw and Blossom, and more.
@BriannaCunliffe | @Brie.Cunliffe





