Metamorphosis by Jennifer Henriksen | Shop | Website | Facebook | Twitter
Bad Omensfriday evening, an avenue streaked with cars
a cold crow with her head
pointing north, her feathers
my brother trades in insignificancies.
he strings wishbones, milky shells.
gathers crow’s blood
for the gods to drink.
we carry debt-burdens of bad omens
like we carry our spines;
unflinching. regret is not always
acrid, but marmalade-sweet.
when i think of our mother’s ashes
i think of sticky jam, and
sometimes of the bodies we abandon
only to find that skin always
feels the same (alive, alive)
and at night, new ghosts sing
their own elegies.
sometimes when i look
in the mirror – it frightens me.
i look like myself.