
This selection, chosen by Guest Curator Callista Buchen, is from (aviary) by Genevieve Kaplan, released by Velize Books in 2020.
The windows, the fence
if I hadn’t been able to begin it, if the springtime
hadn’t come, the shoots hadn’t put
us to it—secret digging in the garden, down
upon wings, creating the new
undergrowth. the notion, listen: a siren
astride the bare branch. a reflection
off the web along the glass, the one smudge that glistens. home
the last place, the fenced place, we
let ourselves suffer its motion, limited
by the holding line, the sun
creeping, the shade. the lure of the soft
petal, a bird that stays, enough of the bud, the branch
to root. smooth versus dirt, landing versus taking
flight. the windows aren’t enough. the fence surrounds the yard
and is too tall. (the drainpipe stopped, even.) rivals, these branches
allowed their reach, animals their roam. what
of the distance, only rooftops, treetops, fortressed
out, undebatable, taunting limbs (and limping.)

