fileg (fileg) wrote,
fileg
fileg

NPM Scott Edward Anderson

DEAD RED WING
Scott Edward Anderson



Of your famous epaulets
only a hint
on the shoulder,
like a wound
opened when my
finger luffs the down,
still dappled with immaturity.
Tangy scar from thorn or thicket,
but not the end of you.

Come spring, you'd be up
in the low trees,
on telephone wires,
bowing foxtail in the marsh,
your song become vain:--
"Look-at-meeee...Look-at-meeee..."
Flash of red on black wing
poised to singe the eyes
trained on you,
a life-bird,
through field glasses.

In my hand you are stiff,
unrecognizable.
The woman
who brought you
to the birding group
kept you
in a Ziploc bag
in the freezer,
next to the roast
and last week's red beans.
Every evening,
when she finished her vigil
at the window,
she took you out,
rubbed your cold breast,
ruffled feathers,
sang your song.
Tags: poetry, poetry and lyrics, poetry month
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