Now is a Bad Time for Certainty
It won’t blacken my skies with a swirling mass
of beaks and wings. I couldn’t see through that flock,
couldn’t feel the hot syrup of the sun dripping
onto my shoulders, so I shot down every one
of my feathered convictions. I’m done with anything
that can cast a shadow. Give me translucence,
no matter how warped the view: wings plucked off
of dragonflies, rice paper that shreds when I touch
my pen to it, undercooked sea glass, still see-through.
Go on, consult with the augurs—the birds will allow it—
and ask me if I want to know my fate. I’d tell you
the truth, but really, the choice isn’t mine. The past
is in front and tomorrow is a day waiting behind me.
I’m always walking backwards into the future.
Cam McGlynn is a writer and scientific researcher from Frederick, Maryland. Ever since she was trapped in a deflating moonbounce as a child, she’s been deeply suspicious of carnivals. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Rattle, Whale Road Review, Gordon Square Review, The Shore, and ONE ART, among others. You can find her at pinkpossumclub.bsky.social or cam_mcglynn on Instagram.
