06-18-2026, 09:18 AM
Postcard
Love is the only foolish
adventuring we do, a story
most convincing in the absence
of the truth.
Part a pair of parrots,
and they’ll pluck themselves to death,
forgetting how to fly with only one
pinfeather left.
I looked for you in London, where the air
is thick with memory—you weren’t there,
but your shadow was. The cockles
made me sick.
Time accrues. It wraps around
the throat and closes slow, until
one morning, you just don’t wake up.
And you’re the last to know.
I admire this poem, most of all for the ending. Despite what I learn before the turn, the last strophe grips me. I think the parrots is a well placed image that carries much weight to how I carry the poem. Cockles - a mollusk? or the one's in your heart? is a double meaning that didn't spring immediately to mind but I learned and both fit well with "made me sick" and I am grateful for that lesson as much as the idea of it. I'm glad I read this poem.
Love is the only foolish
adventuring we do, a story
most convincing in the absence
of the truth.
Part a pair of parrots,
and they’ll pluck themselves to death,
forgetting how to fly with only one
pinfeather left.
I looked for you in London, where the air
is thick with memory—you weren’t there,
but your shadow was. The cockles
made me sick.
Time accrues. It wraps around
the throat and closes slow, until
one morning, you just don’t wake up.
And you’re the last to know.
I admire this poem, most of all for the ending. Despite what I learn before the turn, the last strophe grips me. I think the parrots is a well placed image that carries much weight to how I carry the poem. Cockles - a mollusk? or the one's in your heart? is a double meaning that didn't spring immediately to mind but I learned and both fit well with "made me sick" and I am grateful for that lesson as much as the idea of it. I'm glad I read this poem.