Some Notes

by Maggie Evans

I thought I should tell you,
in the interest of fostering a more sincere

connection between the two of us, that
the following section was excised because

it too easily eroticized my desire to become

        I would have one eye
                        and cock my head cockier.
        I would be the glossiest. Licked blue.
                        Cricket bane. Kiter.
        I would be the limping left-behinder.

It doesn’t really seem
to say I am not crows (though that was my intent,

as I can hardly lick or be licked by a crow,
as I can hardly be considered blue

as I can hardly be called glossy or kite
as I can hardly lick or be licked by). This is

the usual confusion of sex talk.
But the truth is take me

means turn me into birds or I’ll never love you.
The truth is, I am not crows.

Maggie Evans has an MFA in Poetry from Texas State University and is currently pursuing a PhD in Poetry and Poetics at the University of Oregon. She is also pursuing the disappearing tail of something she hopes you don’t have a name for.

Back to Issue Four: Summer 2009