Ivy Rozen
TODAY, I WAS A BIRD––
Today, I was a bird,
and the sun welcomed my
slowly-warming feathers
as I approached.
Today, I held a tiny pulse
racing in my palms,
too small to trust,
too fast to fall.
Today, my heart melted
through my fingers,
and I learned what it meant
to try, and to fail.
SERVANT––
A flame so soothing
that crackles and roars
without subtlety.
Not to be ignored,
impossible to please.
Simmering down, dimming,
I can sense its need.
I gather up the limbs
from the land of murdered trees.
I bring the ruins to dying embers,
and offer the sacrifice
with scar-covered skin.
TALL GRASS––
I was pushing through tall grass,
thorns and sticky seeds stuck to my clothes
and wouldn’t leave.
You asked to keep things simple,
to pretend that we were normal.
I can’t act stronger than I am.
Storm poured over parched plants
before flooding the fields and
drowning the livestock.
When the water receded, we
were laying in the tall grass, choking
on the pits of the fruit that we’d picked
from trees chopped down at the root.
PEEL––
Appearing fresh and young,
like unripened fruit,
my surprisingly sweet juices
ooze from unseen wounds,
punctures in the peel.
I’ve been tasted,
but do you care?
Pull me from my home, where I was never safe,
with an insatiable need to corrupt something pure.
Desire makes men blind to the desires of women,
and I feel the corruption of your pure heart
when you touch me with both lust and pity.
I appeared fresh and young,
like unripened fruit to you,
but too much sugar in the juice,
slipping from my unseen wounds.
The punctures in my peel.
Now you’ve been tasted, too.
I don’t care.
DAISES––
Last spring, I thought of you,
sitting on my front porch.
I watched green dust fly from the trees,
The fine-dressed folks ran from the church
as I peeled my tangerines.
Last spring, I watched the gentle drizzle
erupt into a storm.
As it hit the pavement, I saw it sizzle,
‘cause the day had been so warm.
I thought about my white lace dress
I wore, just a year before.
You’d told me that I’d looked my best
as you walked me to my door.
I thought about my fancy shoes
that hurt my aching feet,
but I’d never be as tall as you,
or nearly as discreet.
I thought of how I kissed you
with everyone around us
at your uncle’s barbeque
and you told me I was nuts.
Last spring, I remembered that,
then looked down at bare toes
that curled up on my doormat
as I hugged my own elbows.
Last spring, I thought about you,
and the paths that we both chose.
Last spring, on my front porch,
I watched my daisies grow.
NEST––
It’s time, wind whispers,
before beckoning.
It’s best to begin early.
Grass and moss:
to help us sleep,
and lots of twigs:
for added stability.
Next, worms for me.
I need strength to feed,
and warmth in my chest:
to comfort in the cold.
Breaking beneath my body,
my babies, blind and hungry.
It’s time. Am I ready?
Ivy Rozen is an Asheville-based poet and free-expression advocate whose art reviews have been published in Fine Art Globe, Chatham Life & Style Magazine, and Education NC. While her first business, Ghost Flowers, was formed with the intention of promoting local artists, her second business, Wildweed Gardens, emphasized the importance of preserving nature and wildlife. She is currently the senior editor of The Black Mountain Press. After her Free Verse residency in Vermont, Ivy studied creative writing with a focus in poetry at Southern New Hampshire University, where she received her undergraduate degree while serving in AmeriCorps. As COVID came and businesses closed, Ivy joined the Chapel Hill Public Arts Commission and began teaching Cathartic Writing workshops to help her community cope with the changes and uncertainties.