If I had the body of an owl
and the head and chest of a woman
and could sing well enough
to make you forget
all you know
and keep you from wanting
to know anything again
you would be unable
to tell anyone
what I’d done due to
the sudden loss
of your tongue

If this were Russia
once upon a time
you might have been believed
for once upon a time
they had a name for me

They called me
a creature of their folklore
counterpart of
Explicitly named and described
in a land that forgot nothing
no matter how hard 
they once legislated erasure
and tried to forget everything
Once they would have known
to call me out for the sweet threat
I was

Here they just claim I do not exist

Body of an owl
Head and chest of a woman
Singing a song so beautiful
it can erase memory and
wipe out the urge to learn more?

When you are used to staring
at a reporter’s polished face
and listening
to their sweet intonation of headlines
you tend to forget
the talons under
the news desk and
what those claws
might be clutching

Sometimes I forget myself
and am nagged by a need
to understand the blood that’s
sticking to me

It passes once I begin to warble


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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