Creature
J.I. Kleinberg
When the world seemed made of doors,
all open, we never tired of asking each other,
What animal would you be? My friends
wanted to be horses, cats, but my creature
was a being of parts, no breed, maid and myth,
a wild-maned body of the unordinary,
my escape. Sometimes I was the being,
sometimes its conjoined rider, aloft, away,
a firelight story told by daughters
to their daughters, a thing almost seen, full
of portent and magic, a grantor of wishes,
capable of song and invisibility, recounted
for blessings, healings, incantations.
To assemble this animal of self, this chameleon –
scaled, plated, horned, tailed and fanged,
nacreous – I traversed the leaving-ground,
culled detritus, stitched samaras into wings,
buttons into scales, paper clips to claws.
I learned listening from the doe, motionless
in shadow, her ears angled this way and that,
this way and that, and when she did not raise
dun-furred wings, I studied the crow, memorized
the language of water, which can go anywhere.
My friends still browse the sweet grass of spring
or lay curled by the fire. And I still soar, more
feared now, more encrusted, less maid than myth,
disarmed by mirror and memory. But when you hear
the low flute-note of breath blown across
a bottle top, look for me in the shadows,
wings raised, my mouth filled with stories.
Three-time nominee for Pushcart and Best of the Net awards, J.I. Kleinberg is an artist, poet, and freelance writer. Her poems have been published in print and online journals worldwide. She lives in Bellingham, Washington, USA, at chocolateisaverb.wordpress.com and on Instagram @jikleinberg.