PARODY Poem: Hope Maybe, by Paige Pal

Hope is the thing with feathers,
shot down in my Daddy’s yard.
Blur of Red on White, a dove
fallen from frostbit window. It is a
gray overcast Morning, the day
after the funeral. From a carriage
Death lifts off his Sunglasses to
watch the Bird fall. We are in my
room and I am writing a Poem of
a Poem, so it’s not really a Poem
at all. Sue, do you hear it, too?
The call of bird song, early into
the Mourning. It is Golden-wrought,
A Muse. In the dark to me it whispers,
“Psst. Dickinson, you’ve really got to
stop isolating yourself in here. You
have no Friends, and it is Sad. Please
see a Doctor. Also, become Famous.”
My Muse sucks. But I keep writing
and I keep writing. The bird is buried
next to me and when I die. Remember
my Feathers go to You, Sue. And also
make sure to Close your Windows. Birds
seriously like to hit them Blind.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest