after Mary Oliver

In the morning
I wake to the lone whisper
of a bird’s call.
Flock of wild geese
curving in patterns above me,
their yin-yang bodies bright notes
against the clear blue.

In front of the mirror
I think of cracking open
my skull
rearranging my bones.
Twisting nasal ridges and eye sockets
until they lock into place.
Straightening jagged-edged teeth
into holes of bloodied gums.

Wishing this macabre was
‘putting my face on,’
instead of darkening eyebrows,
rouging cheeks, lining lips.
As if we walked around
fleshy blobs
unable to see
or taste or smell
until we made ourselves beautiful.

We are never just birds –
curved bellies turned north
toward the sky.
What we are doing
with our one wild and precious life
is painting ourselves palatable

when we could be flying.

Haley DiRenzo is a writer, poet, and practicing attorney specializing in eviction defense. Her poetry and prose have appeared in BULL, Epistemic Literary, Eunoia Review, and The Winged Moon Literary Magazine, among others. She lives in Colorado with her husband and dog.