August 2006

Michael Wingfield


Michael Wingfield This marks an author's first online publication Michael Wingfield lives in Norfolk, Virginia. He has written for broadcast (advertising and ensemble comedy) and print. His poetry has appeared in the U.S. (Gestalt, Zabawny, Nine Volt Magazine) and in Europe (Heidelberg Review). He is also on the Editorial Staff of His collection, Buying Quiet in the Quarrantine is in the works.
Alternate Lyrics To A Blackout    Click to hear in real audio

The expanse of her hands
Would remind ornithologists
Of cormorants or the albatross
Great diving things that
Move through air and
Water with
Deceptively equal ease.

Wiping the last steam from the
Bathroom mirror or
Fishing a cup from a filled sink:

How easily this avian aspect confuses even
Her sometimes
Outside in the garden
On the eve of a
Thieving weather
Lashing down the berries
Binding them tight to the stalk.

Some things will be lost soonó
Precious things.

All of the books are struck open
As she breathes to speak
In the feathery almost lift of windó
Two words:
One to fill the hand,
And one to ride the mouth.

It's unwholesome, this rain;
The fat moon crash of it.
Cloistered daughters rifle the house for supplies
And outside, the pole burning.



Michael Wingfield: Poetry
Copyright ©2006 The Cortland Review Issue 33The Cortland Review