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{September 21, 2017}   Obsession

First of all, thank you to those loyal readers who have visited in the last year even though I have posted very little: Ana Linden, G.P. Cox, Janna Hill, Tyler4Turtles, and Hands on Bowie (among others). I have been obsessed with all my photo groups on Facebook and virtually ignoring my blogging community. I will try to do better from now on! One day a week is better than once in a blue moon.

I had been working on this poem for a while and decided to match it up with this old photo I had posted many years ago. I hope you like it.

Dead Swan

A dock for a headstone…

The Obsession

Half my life ago
I was drawn to you
like a swan to a pond.
I thought I could make
my home in the depth of your eyes:
the warm brown of cattails
with lashes like the tassels
of tall grasses,
a perfect place
for nesting.

Initially my wings were fueled
by desire, but when I landed,
it was the smoothness
of your being,
the clear bubbling joy
of your laughter
in the quiet moments
that locked me into love.

But I soon found that
another laid claim
to your deepest heart —
my comfort was marred
by the fierce hiss
of possessiveness.
I should have known
something so beautiful
could not be unclaimed.

I flew off, but not away,
thinking I could keep
to the fringes,
find a connected waterway,
a secret way in.
I circled and circled
around and around
until I became a wisp
of a cloud,
like the fabled tiger
turned to butter.
In the end,
unsure of who I was
or why I did it,
I crashed hard
into a wooden dock,
wings splayed,
my stretched neck
broken.

 

Copyright Susan Desrocher

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{December 6, 2013}   Eulogy to a Swan

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving…except for one thing. I saw this:

Dead Swan

A dock for a headstone…

I walked to the nearby police station and told them, and they said they already knew and they had called the “environmental officer.” I felt sad.

When I moved to my new apartment in the middle of the summer, I found that I lived near a park and pond, and I walked there often. I discovered a pair of swans with one baby and enjoyed visiting them. I watched the baby swan’s feathers change from fluffy gray to smooth white. And I took pictures.

I’m pretty sure it was one of the parents that died. I know swans mate for  life. That “family” no longer exists, but at least one swan is not left alone. And I can give a snapshot of a wonderful part of that swan’s life.



et cetera
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