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Emily Boyle Poem
Birds
Black birds flapped frantic wings,
crashing against the walls inside my head,
churning the waters of my mind
into dangerous frothing waves.
They cawed and cawed until the soft sounds
of wind and rain and leaves went silent,
and all I could hear were the violent birds,
trapped, circling endlessly.
Their dull feathers blocked my eyes,
and the world dimmed:
color disappeared, and I could not recognize
my own hands, or my daughter’s smile.
But then I realized I could open a window,
and one by one they flew away.
The waves died down,
rolling gently like sunlit grassy hills,
and although feathers remained floating there,
they were flightless, and could no longer
hurt me; we floated together in the warm sun
and the cool water and the fragrant air
and I smiled.
Copyright © Emily Boyle | Year Posted 2020
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Emily Boyle Poem
Outside
Sometimes distant music filters into
night on the back porch, where I swing
near the red geraniums while facing
the fairy lights glowing like fireflies.
Hearing the faraway music reminds me of my relatives’ late night parties,
listening to the record player and the laughter in my pajamas
as the sounds swirl smokily upstairs.
I remember walking past the school gym
in the antiseptic, echoing hallway,
hearing the cheers, the buzzer,
the squeak of sneakers skidding,
the thudding rhythm of basketballs,
but muted, distant, behind heavy closed doors.
I think of weddings, sprawling, loud,
red faced young graduates in ties clutching beers,
women in tight black dresses,
the band playing Blister in the Sun,
and then stepping outside into the cool air,
into the dark protective night,
and though you can see the dancing through the lit windows,
there is calm outside, away from the din,
and the loud music is reduced to muffled, isolated strains.
The ice cream truck tinkles its music box melodies in another part of the neighborhood,
not mine, magic, far away, elusive.
But I am content to hear the faraway tinkling,
to observe twinkling Christmas parties from afar.
I have always known my place was outside
in the dark, in the cool,
with the crickets and the fireflies.
Copyright © Emily Boyle | Year Posted 2020
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Emily Boyle Poem
Perfect
You think you’re doing it all right
with these beautiful, perfect kids.
Down at seven, up at eight,
kale chips and apple slices,
(no added sugar), Mozart and Bach,
organic cotton onesies, SPF 100,
ponytails and bows.
Suddenly it’s all over,
and you realize, ,
you could have served them cotton candy pie,
filled their bottles with chocolate,
you should have left the soles of their feet black,
their curls thick and matted.
How could you know all they needed was you,
with a clear eye and a strong heart
and a wish to be brave?
Copyright © Emily Boyle | Year Posted 2020
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Emily Boyle Poem
Yellow
yellow yolk pauses
plunges into batter
swirled by the whisk
into blurry starry circles
glistening rain slicker
puddle-skipping girl
yellow dash of color
vanishing behind umbrellas
daffodils stand silent
I lie under blankets
watching yellow stars
streak me sky-dizzy
be still, stars,
find your perfect places
beside the yellow moon,
so I can remember
a yolk intact,
resilient daffodils,
and a happy splashing girl
Copyright © Emily Boyle | Year Posted 2020
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