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!