Thursday, February 5, 2009

Forgiven


Tiny toes peeking out of oily plumage
tip-tap joyfully,
cautiously,
on sad silver fence poles.
Big beaks clamping closed in this cold,
waiting for hot, wet drips on the cement.

I've seen where your feathers fall.


By Lindsay Haslem
at

1 comment:

The Bijou Poetry Review said...

Lindsay Haslem is a student at the University of Wyoming, majoring in French and Insomnia. She enjoys the cold weather, but can't wait to go fly fishing. Until then she will watch birds and hope for new socks.

February 5, 2009 at 5:44 PM

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

The Tea Cup Hills

The Tea Cup Hills steam up, the mist swirling above endless green. I walk the quiet trails forever thinking of the bodies piling up in ...

  • What is Left
    This room was once alive with colour and chatter. Now bare, it is silent - the sea licks at piles of bags packed with our lives. We will ca...
  • The Tea Cup Hills
    The Tea Cup Hills steam up, the mist swirling above endless green. I walk the quiet trails forever thinking of the bodies piling up in ...
  • The First Rain of the Season
    The first rain Of the fall Crept in stealth Just at dawn In a tap On the glass What I felt On my bones Was a flow Anapest Of wet life. by Sa...