When my wings had forgotten their purpose,
when they trailed behind me, tips writing
suicide notes in the mud. When my legs
only bent, when my mouth refused to open,
when every feather tried to tell a story they’d
already told. When the mud of our hopes cracked
beneath us, fell through the open beams of
our failures into the last splash of sunlight.
Remember how it was then you called me back
to you, open-mouthed, and I flew into you
and broke everything fragile into pieces?
My voice, like a song, broke everything.
How is it possible that I broke everything?
And still your voice, like a song. And still
your body, like a voice. I would have eaten
you up. The things this mouth did. I can’t hum
without the taste of you. Can’t sigh. Can’t sing.
Listen. Quiet. In the thrushes.
I threaten myself with extinction
just to hear you call me home.
Shanna Germain claims the titles of writer, editor, leximaven, girl geek, she-devil, vorpal blonde and Schrodinger’s brat. Her short stories, essays, poems, novellas and more have appeared in hundreds of books and publications, including Best American Erotica, Best Bondage Erotica, Best Erotic Romance, Best Gay Romance, Triangulation, Salon, Storyglossia and more. Visit her online at shannagermain.com