Love, please don’t lift me up to anywhere
Now that I think about it. I don’t lift
Up easily. I’m not “handle with care.”
I like ground, grass and gravity, a gift
Hallmark should hustle. Who is it who’s flying
Where the eagles cry (Do eagles cry?); and who
Wants Joe Cocker if they don’t plan on tying
One on, hot-boxed, until all birds look blue?
To be together is so overrated—
That’s not my style. Fragile is fine enough
To fracture, like an old, disintegrated
Leaf pulled from a worn notebook, perforated
To separate. The eagle’s wing is fluff.
The sky’s not high. Nothing’s exaggerated.
-Erica Dawson, Birmingham Poetry Review