Mockingbird | Lynn Finger

in the cherry tree, nimbus-crowned,
a grey coin perched, my need, 
a teetering stark 
repetition,
small memory, notice how
she doesn’t call but carries on 
even gone. I am stairs, 
solemn
in silent travel. Maybe she wants 
to sing. We are as wild to her 
as she is to us. I
give up 
arms for wings, cling with weight of 
feathers. She as light as a buoy 
in the attic. People are 
interesting
only if lost, gifts need to be discovered 
by chance.

Lynn Finger's poetry has appeared in Night Music Journal, Ekphrastic Review, Daily Drunk, 8Poems, Perhappened, and is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys. Lynn is an editor at Harpy Hybrid Review and works with a group that mentors writers in prison. Follow Lynn on Twitter @sweetfirefly2