I should have left the sesame seed I dropped
on the floor. Let birds fly in through the hole
in my roof to get it. The hole I love to watch the rain
rain through. A blackbird visited this morning, wanting
scones and oolong tea. Stinking the sick breath
of the winos at the Blue Note around the corner.
A fortuneteller there dealt me her thirteenth card.
Said, son. Come live with art. But one by one,
the artists and musicians are dying. They die
and they turn into birds. Shadows with black feathers.
Their lives becoming more remarkable than mine.
-Jeffrey Owen Pearson (Delaware County)
Jeffrey Owen Pearson’s poems appear in So It Goes, Reckless Writing Anthology, Tipton Poetry Journal, and Maize. His chapbook Hawaii Slides was published by Pudding House Publications. A member of the Midwest Writers Workshop, he lives in Muncie.
Indiana Humanities is celebrating National Poetry Month by sharing a poem from an Indiana poet every day in April (hand-selected by Indiana Poet Laureate George Kalamaras). Check in daily to see who is featured next!