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Rusty: A Poem
May 11, 2013
I once met a raven that reminded me
of a burqa-donning virgin.
I christened her Rusty,
like a tarnished kitchen pot.
Three days later, Grannie passed.
The next month I met a flock of
those funeral-petals at the park.
Told myself I wouldn’t die.
Told myself,
“Coal shaded paper planes can’t kill me.”
Mother kept telling the neighbors
that Little Rusty killed Grannie.
My Little Rusty, the single strand of
black in a witch's hair
thought herself a sinner.
I tucked her into bed that night
but she never woke up.
© Jacqueline T., Flowermound, TX
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