L.A. the Blog: Salutes Poet Kirsten Broughton

In the pursuit of making this blog more than fire jumpers and television stars we pay tribute to Kirsten Broughton, poet and literary savant who befriended L.A. the Blog recently, debating literary genres, writers and periods for hours at a time.  Just published in Inscape 2012 literary magazine at Pasadena City College for her poem “Holy Bird,” we say congratulations Kirsten!  May your poetry find its way into many more hearts as it has our own.  Without further ado we are publishing in entirety her poem:

“Holy Birds”
by Kirsten Broughton


Forgive me Mother, for I was a baby.
Turned in your grip when we lowered
Down, my white dress bunched up. Priest
Poured holy water on my forehead.
Forgive me Mother; I am not sure it seeped in.

Forgive me Brother, for I was frightened.
We anticipated with open palms, our childish
Hunger still quenchable. Filled to the brim you always
Trusted. My cup half empty left me wanting.
Forgive me Brother, for taking more than my share.

Forgive me Sister, for I was not confident.
My burning eyes seek perfect sister skin. A teenage
Girl does not know: it is not killer looks singeing
Holes. It’s me, sizzled down to my jealous bones.
Forgive me Sister, I confess but I won’t let go.

Forgive me Grandmother, for I was foolish.
Kicking and screaming I knew more. Maternal
Pressure pushed me through, a tightly locked
Invisible door. A broken window is just a small price,
Forgive me Grandmother, for I am still not wise.

Forgive me Lover, for I have been hurt.
Because of you, I have come to know warmth. Yet,
Internal furnace could not burn; doubtful whispers
Floating up; “my lifetime bound in matrimony?”
Forgive me Lover, for I am claustrophobic

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. And
I still have the same question, “Does He hear my
Every thought?” Your answer has always been the
Same, “Words will scream but a silent smile saves.”
Forgive me Father, for I am desperate to be heard.

Forgive me Earth, for I am resisting death.
No Holy Oils could stretch my time. No
Anointing could relieve, the eternal wood
Box confine, that endless soil’s about to bring
So, when this borrowed body must return,
Forgive me Earth, I want to come back as a bird.


UPDATE:  If you are interested in more of Kirsten’s work and her art please visit here where you can find her musings, thoughts, reflections and favorite poets.

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