Amy Pence
Flocking The Flannery
We’ve arrived . . . . too late for Andalusia
peafowl huddle in their coop—
tail feathers folded as if the sudden
collapse of grandeur were our mistake
We’ve come for our Flannery—
carry her complete stories
tromp down to Tobler Creek
Garbed in Southern Goth: knee-
socks pulled high, bangs straight
But the O’Connor is locked
screen door shut, rockers
stilled. We’ve wandered far inside
the Flannery but cannot
find her— red-faced Mary
head in a book wishing herself
twelve forever We harbor
our grotesques fondle them
with relish, our mothers
like hers— holding
the secret : our death—
she’ll betray once then twice
but never to our bland faces
We are obtruded by the Flannery
redolent spread magnolias—
fossilized our favors
fitful, incomplete We hold out
our peagreenish handbags die in obscurity
obscured by the Flannery writing fiendishly
in death’s— spread tail feathers
full-blown fisted our fatalistic south.
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Artwork on this page:
Detail of Family secrets too heavy to fly
20 x 36" oil on wood, 2013
Irene Hardwicke Olivieri
Detail of Family secrets too heavy to fly
20 x 36" oil on wood, 2013
Irene Hardwicke Olivieri