by Elizabeth Rae Bullmer
As if I were born condor in a past life,
eyes wide open, with no vocal chords
and all my soul wanted was to sing.
Did I flap my wings at a certain altitude
on a day the wind felt especially generous?
Was it the smashed berry trapped between talons
finally falling free, or the bit of dried blood on my beak
breaking the crystal surface of a stream?
What started the tsunami, lifetimes later, swirling
in my mother’s womb, all eyeballs and reverberant
voice, as if I only came here to do one thing.
About the Author:
Elizabeth Rae Bullmer started writing at seven-years-old. This poetry explores the physio-mythic: what it is to live in a body defined by human story. Bullmer’s work appears in numerous journals and two chapbooks. 2025’s winner of the Heartwood Poetry Prize and Best of the Net nominee, Bullmer is also a workshop facilitator, licensed massage/sound therapist, and the mother of two phenomenal humans, living with three fantastic felines in Kalamazoo. She can be reached at https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.bullmer/ or https://elizabethbullmer.wordpress.com/