The Office Park

                                                                                                                                          from Swans





1.
You’ve read--wings are wings,
swan or angel. Girl wings,
skin stretched, orange thread, over
cast stitch. Do girls wear
orange? Or make an office of it?

To be on your desk is to be
the angel--you detach
sleeves from arms--no girls
take part. A swan taken
apart, a crime that began
with feathers and will not end
with me. I--girl?--
have touched your neck
and I see wings. More?

2.
The stars scatter from the county
where you shed the most wings. Earth
holds the heat at night. Lime trees
remember the swans if planted
by a bride. Speak to the tendency
of office parks to tire of their own
myths, and I will note the path
of hands as they find first
girl then desk. Morning--
the authority
on oranges. File under
objectives. Or more.
More.






Originally from Nebraska, Katie Berger lives in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Her work has appeared in Ghost Town, foothill, ditch, Catch Up, and The Untidy Season: An Anthology of Nebraska Women Poets. Her chapbook Time Travel: Theory and Practice was released by Dancing Girl Press in 2013.