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Clade Song 5

Alight Before the Sirens

Forgive me. I cocooned in him. A brief place to alight before the sirens.

My wings curled and spotless.
Beside him, I could not feel their longing to turquoise.
The sun inside my throat unaware of its longitude.

I made soup and baked bread. Threw the loose body
upon the hottest stone. Hardened to the task.
When the moon sought his eyelashes, I cupped my
right hand to shelter his dreaming.

Forgive me. I cannot stop imagining
the height of weeds in the garden. The lack
of winter meals. So much gathered, then flung away.

If asked, I would have stayed his Sisyphus.
Always the mountains, darling, and someone unable.

Burden me, till I'm remembered butterfly.  

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Claudia F. Savage has been published most recently in The Denver Quarterly, CutBank, Iron Horse Review, Buddhist Poetry Review, Nimrod, Cordella, and Bookslut. She teaches at The Attic in Portland, OR and is part of the experimental poetry/music duo, Thick in the Throat Honeyas well as co-founder of the label THrum Recordings. Find her at  



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