Never a Peach Boy
After “The Plagiarist” by Nicky Beer

I have enough cease and desist letters
to wallpaper my living room.
I can try to arrange them so the paragraphs of text
form black brushstrokes like the Japanese wallpaper
that made up the foyer of my childhood home.
I could try to pluck some of the lines of text
like they are strings on a shamisen and pretend
that I am looking at the reflection of the moon
on the pond, hoping to see Kaguya-hime dancing
around a crater. I already sacrificed the immortality potion
she gave me, burned it with my unpublished manuscripts,
and told myself that I could reach the moon on my own.
All I had to do was make myself into a man of folk legend,
gather treasures and companions to challenge the greatest foes.
But all my attempts did was remind others of true heroes,
men who could cover walls with calligraphy after
they finish slaying all the monstrous oni on their island.
I’ll keep receiving letters in the mail, keep laboring
to cover more of my space, and look at all these demands
to stop trying to be someone worthy of a princess.

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Distant Goal
After “Fly” by Gary Jackson

It’s easy to see the open window ledge
as an invitation to leave,
to see it as the first part of home
to leave behind when I soar out
past the ivy-covered walls.
I have been patient, knowing that I
can only leap out the window once and
hope my shell doesn’t crack on the
sidewalk below.

My father told me that when I make
the attempt, I should imagine
something in the distance I want to reach.
There should be a snowy cap or
a bare tree top I should want to perch.
He told me he wanted to sit atop a
radio tower, add his song to the morning mix.
I do better than him. I look at a belltower,
long sealed off, and I know I have to
make it ring for the first time in decades
with the right peck of my beak.

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