From the Prison Writing Project

 

 

There’s a swan,

Upon my lawn—

The scar above his eye,

Completes him like—

An exam.

 

One given by,

The Great Swan

In the sky

 

His Twin, 

Webbed feet

a furious blur—

They sprint like pestered squirrels about,

Focused on the task at hand. 

 

Both tasks above---

And below,

You know.

 

His beak will bend the water’s edge at times,

As it also bends the rules—

At times . . .

Arrows pin him into place, 

At times

 

I’m vexed in a cell,

By this well-worn bird,

His soliloquy his constant boast,

a lullaby of self reproach,

The reprimand he uses most,

So to this bird I raise a toast!