Aldis Gamble ’13
A man told me once
his method for dealing
was emotional detachment.
I could feel your warm body
held close to mine,
and you were suddenly beautiful.
Tucking your head
under my arm,
I loved you then.
I’d been wrong
when I’d called you stupid,
or thought you ugly.
You could never boast
a peacock’s feathers,
or soar up to the sun.
But you were an equal
with all your pecking,
your squabbling and gorging.
I had to thank you
in that moment before,
and hope that you heard me.
Violently flapping,
your legs and wings
jerking under my hands.
I gripped your body
tighter than I’d ever
gripped before in my life.
Warm blood splattered,
flecked my hands red
‘Till you calmed, went limp.