Lynn Finger
IT NEVER SEEMED WRONG TO LOVE YOU, IT’S JUST THAT WE WERE HERONS

It never seemed wrong to love you, but I think
we knew it wasn’t a fit. Still, we pitch

a rocky tent in the sugar pines outside of
I-40. You try to build the fire with a
flint that makes weak sparks. I finally

fumble the matches. We couldn’t have been
any more awkward if we tried.
I did tell you my unspoken fear,

that I am a heron, evicted from their lake.
You say, with knife-edged beak, how so.
Not so touchable as your blue feathers, but

in every mouth, every eye, there’s a lake
moving and we’re herons, we fly over it,
haven’t you noticed? We seek comfort and home.

You shake droplets from your down, as you
aren’t sure. I look at you and say,

then we all soar like wandering herons,
salted and lost, looking for our words.

You finally understand, but the wind
unwinds, the fire simmers out, the tent

cold, you leave in the empty air,
new-grown feathers flush with the breeze.

And I know now, the gnash of what happens,
when you tell the truth, or when the truth
finally sings, and tells you.

Lynn Finger’s works have appeared in 8Poems, Perhappened, Book of Matches, Fairy Piece, Drunk Monkeys, and ONE ART: a journal of poetry. Lynn also recently released a poetry chapbook, The Truth of Blue Horses, published by Alien Buddha Press. She was nominated for 2021 and 2022 Best of the Net Anthology. Lynn edits Harpy Hybrid Review. Her Twitter is @sweetfirefly2.

Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #42.

Submit to Cleaver!