top of page

Elizabeth Rae Bullmer

The Birds & The Boys

 

When I was ten years old and ready 

to mother something.         I thought 

I only wanted to birth boys,

 

that I would be good at water 

fights & tree forts;          I knew how 

to play in the dirt. Always wanted 

 

a skateboard & a slingshot—

not to aim at the birds.          I would 

have raised gentle boys 

 

with coarse ropes of hair & window-

ledge eyes, poet boys, dreamers,        

living together like thunder in sunshine.

 

I have never received anything 

I admitted to wanting aloud. 

As if the devil were listening,          or god 

 

thought lack could teach me

a lesson:          perhaps humility 

or how to keep my heart to myself;

 

children should be seen 

& unheard—dreams we believe

will define us, build our identity,

 

as if the earth were each dandelion 

& patch of red clover sprouting

from her surface, as if we become

 

what we create.          God cannot answer 

everyone’s prayers, & maybe some of those 

prayers are selfish or shallow—too foolish 

 

for anyone to support,          especially god.



What You Could Learn from This

 

Don’t fall in love with a body;

bodies don’t tell the truth.

They are unpredictable, unreliable.

You will think you know

every delicious inch of skin

only to discover a new scar

shimmering like lakeshore foam

at the receding hairline,

thinning tissue behind knees

or in the bend of elbows—

blood vessels branching violet

broken blooms, a dark spot

in the white of an eye

you had already memorized.

 

The body lies. And suddenly

you wake beside a perfect stranger

vaguely like your lover. Your palms

will pat and probe for familiar hand-

holds, landmarks, your favorite

birthmark just below the beltline,

and you will be abandoned.

Find something deeper to love:

the patient rise and fall of a

sleeping chest, so innocently

trusting in the next breath.

Beyond muscle and bone, gently

disintegrating, blown away by years,

long instead for the marrow—mold it, like putty

pressed to fit the shape of your mouth.

 

Elizabeth Rae Bullmer's most recent chapbook, Skipping Stones on the River Styx, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. She is a licensed massage and sound therapist, in Kalamazoo, MI.




bottom of page