And Oedipus Answered the Sphinx:
by Weston Morrow
I was there when this world was born. I was there
—at the horizon—where they separated sky from
sea, the line that is no line,
except that you expect it to be.
I was there when the bonds were forged,
and have been made anew each morning,
pulled from fire, fresh, baked
in pain—only steam escapes.
And I am here at the end of things—call me
vulture, all eyes and food-full mouth, call me
seraphim, selfish beast
born hoarding wings. I
need only two for flying; the others are just covering
my eyes and keeping my feet clean. I hover above
the people in the street, who
walk awkwardly, limp limbs
dragging. They have nothing on their backs but
bundles brimming with other people's dreams.
I add to each my sympathies.
Sorry is a toy with strings.
—at the horizon—where they separated sky from
sea, the line that is no line,
except that you expect it to be.
I was there when the bonds were forged,
and have been made anew each morning,
pulled from fire, fresh, baked
in pain—only steam escapes.
And I am here at the end of things—call me
vulture, all eyes and food-full mouth, call me
seraphim, selfish beast
born hoarding wings. I
need only two for flying; the others are just covering
my eyes and keeping my feet clean. I hover above
the people in the street, who
walk awkwardly, limp limbs
dragging. They have nothing on their backs but
bundles brimming with other people's dreams.
I add to each my sympathies.
Sorry is a toy with strings.
Weston Morrow is a graduate student of literature, assistant poetry editor for Crab Creek Review, and intern for the Bagley Wright Lecture Series. His recent poetry has appeared in Western Humanities Review, Pidgeonholes, After the Pause, Boston Accent Lit, and reviews in Blackbird. He’s on Twitter @WMorrow and atwww.westonmorrow.com.