29 June 2009 | Vol. 9, No. 2
Now I understand why. Someone turns loose the winds on me
and I'm a fountain of fire, someone tosses me into the sea
and I float in a boat of flames, someone pushes me under
and my lungs implode like hydrogen blimps. Every bronchiole burns
as I fall to the sea floor. Then I notice, rising above the waves,
a confluence of birds finding formation, v-shaped as they ascend
at the same speed I sink. The air is their aviary, and at some point,
they'll shift southward as if they are coming to save me,
as if the act of being saved is worth more than the hope of it.
About the author:
Elizabeth Onusko received an MFA in Poetry from Sarah Lawrence College and an MA in English from Fordham University. She is the managing editor of Guernica: a Magazine of Art and Politics (GuernicaMag.com). Her work has appeared in Poetry East and is forthcoming in the Briar Cliff Review and Coal Hill Review.