Sunday, August 14, 2011

Mobile


She holds it in her hand
like an injured
baby bird,

preaching
solace to the poor
the rich don’t understand.

On the other end her lover
hangs on every
word

               (as I imagine her or him)

And when I hear

                              her laugh,


               I exchange my breath

     for wings.



9 comments:

Akeith Walters said...

Lovely and provocative, William.

Jan said...

No words of mine can describe how beautiful this is, William. Your words have touched my heart & soul~~~

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Gray, very much. You too, Jan. Your kind response shows just how lucky I am.

Wine and Words said...

Laughter, the wind chimes of delight. And on some we take flight with their beauty. With others we take flight from the cackle. Flight, either way. Wings.

Would that we could hear each other laugh, huh William?

William Michaelian said...

Indeed, Annie. And yet, why do I imagine we already have?

Jim Murdoch said...

There is something both preposterous and charming about a mobile phone being compared to an injured bird. Probably the most profound poem I’ve ever read about a mobile phone; this list is not long though, in fact this may be the only poem on it.

William Michaelian said...

And the day will come when no one knows what a mobile is; but I do hope the birds live on. I don’t have a mobile phone myself. I feel about them as the narrator in this passage of Richard Brautigan’s In Watermelon Sugar:

“. . . Fred had something strange-looking sticking out of the pocket of his overalls. I was curious about it. It looked like something I had never seen before.

‘What’s that in your pocket, Fred?’

‘I found it today coming through the woods and up from the Watermelon Works. I don’t know what it is myself. I’ve never seen anything like it before. What do you think it is?’

He took it out of his pocket and handed it to me. I didn’t know how to hold it. I tried to hold it like you would a flower and a rock at the same time.

‘How do you hold it?’ I said.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it.’” . . .

Terresa said...

This is beautiful.

William Michaelian said...

Terresa, thank you.