Hawk Feather by Connie Helena after Peyton Michelle Bryant | One Poem After

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud. Today's poem is: Hawk Feather by Connie Helena after Peyton Michelle Bryant -Poetess, you made me cryYou gave me grief with your wordsIt is not the tequila I promise youBecause I drink all the time nowYou made me rememberThe odds are against me, against faithI will never love anyone in this life againMost likely this is so (he surely died)Enough of the drama (eye roll)The truth is I have been alone too longTo give it up for second bestMuch less third best, three hundredth bestI will only open my hand for the oneWho has the power to surprise meNo matter how I try to be cynical, jadedI cannot help but wonderWho will call forth the wind in the treesMake my body electric againInhabit a body I have no choiceTo sleep peacefully beside, because I mustMore from Connie Helena ↓@journalof1000days on InstagramHer book Journal of 1000 Days is available nowAnd now for the poem this was written after. “God, you can keep the boys” by Peyton Michelle Bryant -God, you can keep the boyswho only write sad poetryand listen to The Smiths on repeat.God, my man is a warrior.Lord knows I’ve got enough wordsto feed the both of uswhen times get tough.My man writes poems with his hands.My man is not afraidto bloody his knuckles for me.My man is a lion, Lord.He is a stallion running down his own mission.Our paths meet in the middle where we playbut neither one pulls the other off course.He knows I belong to this wild worlddoesn’t try to rope me inor brand me with his name.He knows I am not something to be owned.Instead, he builds me a boatwith the biggest sail you’ve ever seenand paints my nameon the side of her.He builds me a set of wingsthat carries me fartherthan Icarus could ever go.He builds me a writing cabinand doesn’t get offendedwhen I’m taken by the desireto be alone for daysin my cocoon of creation.His hands are shields-his palms big enoughto hold the entirety of the Milky Wayand each one has memorizedthe blue/brown/green/red planetof my body.His fingertips brush the column of my throatand he calls the rain down.Gardens grow in the marrow of meand not oncedoes he try to pluck them from the soil.My man has arms and legs like the trunksof the six-hundred-year-old Sycamore.I want to nest in the branches of him.I chart the map of his bodylike a world-eager traveler-trace the veins like blue-green riversalong the shores of his forearmslick the salt ocean sweatgathered in his jugular notchclimb him like a wolf in heatand stillI am hungry for the meat of him.My man calls me Brilliantcalls me Dragon Firecalls me Wolf Witch,Poetess,Great Moon of His Heart.My man calls me Thank God.He calls me At Last.God, my man is an inferno.I need him to be sturdy enoughto withstand the heat.He is my burning crimson star;I reach for the ten-million-degree Fahrenheit center of himwithout flinching.God, I know you’ve put us together before;our lifetimes are an ancient songmy cells still remember.I remember how we smelledof campfire smoke and sweat-our feet pounding a beat into the Earth.I remember his face cast in firelight-the two of us skin on skin,a tangled pile of limbsblanketed by furs.I remember my nailstracing red lines down the planes of himmy hair held like a birdtender in his fist.I remember his mouthmarking each rung of my spine,his calloused handslike rocky planetsorbiting the moon of me.I remember I fell from my horse-he took an arrow to the heartand new bodies and livesmade up a river of time between us.I am a queen lost to his kingdom, Lord.Send the cavalry!The lines have been blurredbetweendragonwomanand towerand I can no longer rememberwhich one I’m supposed to be.God, I want you to give him back.I want to lay him downin the feather bed of my heartonce again.I w