Callahan Baumstark, Mary

English

University of Montana

The Oval Volume 6 Issue 1 Article 6 2013 Sorrows (A Sestina) Mary Callahan Baumstark Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.umt.edu/oval  Part of the Creative Writing Commons Let us know how access to this document benefits you. Recommended Citation Callahan Baumstark, Mary (2013) "Sorrows (A Sestina)," The Oval: Vol. 6 : Iss. 1 , Article 6. Available at: https://scholarworks.umt.edu/oval/vol6/iss1/6 This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks at University of Montana. It has been accepted for inclusion in The Oval by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks at University of Montana. For more information, please contact scholarworks@mso.umt.edu. 30mary callahan baumstarkSorrows (A Sestina)Erratic flutters the bird trapped inside this heart of  mine.And with the cupboard of  my chest exposed, it uses my ribs to nest. Sorrow makes its bed, sinking home.My chest is a cold cathedral, a bare bones goodbye.Water trickles down the eaves when I swallowand stains the floor like paper.Like the floor, I am a tea stained piece of  paper,and I’m sinking. This empty body of  minecurls like dog-eared pages, makes it hard to swallow. This bird made a roost here, to nest,filled with bits of  nothing and letters of  goodbyes. The rib-lined cavern of  my chest is becoming home.It’s cozy down there, sorrow is furnishing a home,hanging pictures from my sternum, walls covered in paper. Breathing as deep as I can, there’s no exhaling a goodbye.The bird and sorrow are hand in hand, just out of  reach of  mine. Their embrace is cold and shivers ripple from their nest.In this cold cathedral, nests are only made by swallows.It seems that the dip in flight of  the swallowis the turn of  the confused seeking home.And they have made a place to nest,between the ribbed walls, and with dark, stained paper. They seem happy in this wicked chest of  mine.They needed room for an armoire, so my right lung said goodbye.It was a difficult goodbye,more difficult than forcing sorrow into a swallow.As for my chest, I have an armoire, a lung, and sorrow in mine and my ribs are without the skin they call home.My breath is as white and crisp as paperwithout a lung in which to nest.31Like the intertwining of  threads, the nestis the fabric of  this sorrowful, desperate goodbye. Woven from my tangled hair and the bones of  paper, I look the bezoar in my mouth and swallowed,like a war-time secret, desperate for home.These threads, tangled or not, are mine.Without this tearful nest, I am without what is mine.Sorrow has made such a home here, it is impossible for goodbyes.The swallows are content to swoop and dip as they please, and  I am paper thin.

Sorrows (A Sestina)

https://scholarworks.umt.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1198&amp;context=oval

Sorrows (A Sestina)

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