At the Heart of Every Stone, A Bird

Issue EightIssue Eight PoetryPoetry

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By Angela T. Carr

 

Nest of pebbles on the doorstep –

a pagan offering, the work of small hands –

its matted grass walls, breached,

 

its fledglings, scattered:

mudstone, basalt, granite, schist.

No beak, no wing, no blood-

 

warm feathered rump to tender heat,

crack the silicon shell. No fluttering

four-chambered igneous beat.

 

Cuckoos, they will know flight –

the pinch of a child’s fingers,

the toe of a mud-scuffed shoe.

 


This poem was originally published in The Lonely Crowd Issue 10 (2018).