Babybird
A response to the recent plagiarism controversy re: Ailey O’Toole and Rachel McKibbens
Lannie Stabile
It is slow sludge struggling
through a paper windpipe.
I, myself, am choked,
clogged like a dead
sewer city. My talent is so
shriveled, so flightless, I can’t
even vomit without vomiting.
A bird unspun the
snakes within, feigning veins,
that once fed on my inertia,
occupied space in my throat.
She knew her song like it had
perched on her chest for too
many winters. A stout gremlin
tinkering with her lungs
instead of a plane. And when
she coughed up blud,
I siphoned it from her lips.
