Sparks, Nevada

By Cynthia Cruz Cynthia Cruz
In the middle of the night, father
Brought me a falcon.

By morning, it ripped the wire and flew the hill
Into the highway.

When they found me in that car
My sleeve stemmed in blood,

I didn’t know what it was
I was trying to kill.

I saw a craft of orphans steaming down the river.
They were dressed in white and silent as a séance.

It was then I spoke to the bird.

Already God is shaking his black seed
Back into me.

Source: Poetry (May 2014).


This poem originally appeared in the May 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

May 2014
 Cynthia   Cruz


American poet Cynthia Cruz is the author of Wunderkammer (Four Way Books, 2014), The Glimmering Room (Four Way Books, 2012), and Ruin (Alice James, 2006).She has published poems in numerous literary journals and magazines including the New Yorker, Kenyon Review, the Paris Review, and the Boston Review, and in anthologies including Isn't it Romantic: 100 Love Poems by Younger Poets (2004), and The Iowa Anthology of New American . . .

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Nature, Animals

POET’S REGION U.S., Mid-Atlantic

Poetic Terms Free Verse

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