You can cut me back
in bales of disregard with
your sickle hands and saw grin,
but I am persistent. I will keep
rambling towards you, crawling
on all fours like a masochistic girlfriend
who is begging for your attention
hoping, for once, you will see me
for who I truly am, but
those eyes of yours will
roll over blank, mid-bite
like a shark’s eyes as they
have done for centuries in
foolish perceived domination.
I am your breath; I give you
nourishment; you drink from my lips
but I will tell you this: Once worn
and ornery my reedy arms will
shackle your feet through
concrete cracks and pull you down.
Your beard will descend to greet
me like a white flag flaps in defeat;
in time, you will molder in the peat
and your dust will cover the backs
of hypnotic crickets that will detach
your soul in synchronized wing vibrations
in melodies that will scatter and gather
in the thicket then reawaken
a wise raven.
Nancy Iannucci is a historian who teaches history and lives poetry in Troy, NY. She has always been entranced by the mysticism of life and the fine line that exists between our world and the mystical. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Three Line Poetry, Fickle Muses, Red Wolf Journal, Rose Red Review, Faerie Magazine (FB photography), Mirror Dance,and Yellow Chair Review. She is currently working on her first chapbook.