poetry / Poetry / Uncategorized / Writing

Day 102 of 35

Beautiful Cassandra,

I’m going to ask you
not to look at the myth—
no matter how they tell it,
it doesn’t end well for you.

Mute prophecy a moment.

The history of birdsong
is also yours. Remember,
it was a heron, not a god,
that made sense of chaos.
Let its cadence sway
you now as a lullaby would.

***Cassandra’s Christmas present

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