The silent “h” in butterfly, the silent “h” in petrichor. How can I occupy
my hands when my hands are busy. Hot pink turkey vultures reassert
the commonplace. Taking off and putting on
imaginary blood studs, the outer edges
become less toothy. Our body now as
stable as a songbird. No sign of
northern pike in the days
that followed
but a matted
ball at the
neck hunks
or hanks deep
turkeys dark
whirlwinds
the silent “h”
in bluebells
Hi Jen! I really love this poem, because I just learned the word petrichor two years ago, and now it’s become one of my favorite words, so I was able to enter this poem with such joy and turkeys amazing thank you.
Killer opening line!!!!!!!
the silent “h”s! the funnel of the poem coming down!
lOvE LOvE LOVE