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Patron Saints of Blue Jays by Sarah Karowski

August 15, 2021
Reading Time: 1 Minutes
My love & I won’t stop dancing.
we don’t concern ourselves with rhythm
or room—we see opportunity to wave
our limbs in haphazard motions, jump 
with smiles that bunch our cheeks
into tight hot balls, hops that throw
the sagging of our bellies around, that suck
the breath from our lungs, that work the tendons 
close to our hearts into stronger
muscles & when we’re done, we sink 
into each other, held up only by a willingness
to keep the other on their feet for at least
a little longer. We danced when I graduated
college, danced when we moved into that house
on Ocean Boulevard, & when I saw
the baby blue jay on our cold kitchen floor—
featherless wrinkled skin, fragile soft
chirps—scooped her up in a towel, you stole 
mulberries from the neighbor’s tree
to crush & spoon into her pink, gaping mouth. 
We did our best to keep her warmth
safe until morning came & we could drive
her to the wildlife rescue, leave her in that little
cubby—alone—where a vet would find her. 
Back on Ocean, we held each other, swayed
slowly to silence, arms resting on shoulders 
delicate, like if we gripped too tightly
we’d lose the other.

 

 

Contest WinnersNarrative Poetry
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Poetry

Karowski, Sarah
Sarah Karowski (she/her) obtained her MFA at the Mississippi University for Women. Her work has been in Prospectus: A Literary Offering and Mad Swirl among others, as well as in anthologies with Indie Blu(e) Publishing and Moonstone Arts Center. She is also the social media advisor for Thimble Literary Magazine. Aside from poetry, she adores animals, watching movies, taking pictures of trees, floating in the ocean, and trying to call dragonflies to her telepathically. She lives in Tallahassee, Florida, with her partner and two dogs.

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