The Citizenship

We were told to ground the rattles of snakes into a powder
and mix it with water to form a solution
that will ease the suffering of childbirth
and prevent the foliage from turning red 
and yellow. The pigments rise to the surface if left
unchecked, drawing in every last packet of light 
that it can, pocketing the change in case it’s needed 
for later. Or if a grey heron needs to make a call 
at a payphone to say she’s running behind. 
“A traffic signal is broken. And everyone is waiting,” she says. 
“What a mess,” her husband replies, with a sigh as he peers 
through the blinds, at the leaves that swirl and dive 
in the wind, like a fleet of paper airplanes crashing. 
 

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Anna Ojascastro Guzon is a writer, mother, teacher, former physician, and a co-founder and director of YourWords STL, an arts and education nonprofit. She received an MD from the University of Missouri – Kansas City School of Medicine and an MFA from The New School Graduate Writing Program. Her writing may be read in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Best American Poetry Blog, Bone Bouquet, and The Boiler Journal among other publications.