Somewhere, there’s a meadow or a moon
or a spacious, gracious tune where you can finally forgive
the way I loved and wanted
everything at once. I am a dunce at love. I failed to see
the world was not above us, not below,

no lonely bird’s eye view, but bursting

and contained, instead, in you. My darling. My once,
my former darling. Will I always be a starling
on a chase? Crying out in haste? Another solo flight, a light
and lilting dirge, this poor bird’s lost
her tree, but not the urge: listen

how she chatters, how she chimes. Darling, it’s simply not

our time. That’s another kind
of matter: another world. A boy who loves
a girl who loves him back. Finally, the dance. Finally,
the knack. Maybe Spain, maybe France: iced champagne
and oysters raw and ripe for shucking, bed linens
fresh for endless fucking, Casablanca waiting
on the TV, oh some final, dim-lit
orange room where Joni Mitchell croons
on vinyl, some abandoned white sand
beach, beneath the distant stars,
chances are we’re making out
beyond the reach and trick
of time, in the back of someone’s ’57 Buick–

so if you find it, lead me there, where our love can be
and have me
have me
have me


About evanduyne

I'm assistant professor of writing at Stockton University, where I'm also affiliated faculty in the Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program. I work on Sylvia Plath, contingent faculty, and creative writing around trauma and domestic violence.
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2 Responses to Skylark

  1. Melissa J. Varnavas says:

    LOVE IT! Such power and movement. Line breaks are wonderful. Go! Printing out and posting on my wall.

  2. tuesdaynext says:

    Just an FYI on starlings, they are one of the most hated since they are not a native species and actually have single handedly decimated the song birds of North America because they go to their nests and throw out their eggs and then take over their nests. You are not a starling:-)

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