Cyrana Martin


duckling, do not mind my tears.
yellow flapper, my shaking will only displace
the water which falls from our faces, water
which evaporates, since the clouds, too, must cry.
but oh my duckling dearest, tonight i cry that
i have loved you more, and i have loved you less.
and tonight, i love you with the desperation
of a cat determined to trap its own tail,
and tonight i love you like the oil spill
which tarnishes your feathers, with the hope
of painting you in a coat of color thick enough
that it cannot be forgotten. oh my duckling,
i have loved you longer than you should ever
want me to. and i can see, oh duckie dearest,
the hardening of your face, as the oil settles in place.
but i beg you to remember, duckling, that we can
waddle away from this our poisoned pond,
to see if our two tongues beneath the sun
might lick the gunk away, to blaze like candles
with the starlit day, and with the widest wings, protect
our faces' feathers from the raincloud's poison rain.
i ask you to remember, duckling, when first you felt
my orange kisses upon your feathered face.

Cyrana Martin 
How well can we ever know anyone? [Editor's note.]