ISSUE: Fall 2019
When the fledgling fell
from its nest, by meager attempt,
by pinwheel descent,
and lay, unguarded,
all night, it could not know,
come morning,
it would belong to the human
world of flesh-scent,
disgrace. Held briefly
by children
then returned to its birthplace,
to siblings breaking apart
and waking, weak-eyed,
no-feathered, no hint
of the mother who will tend
no longer. No worm,
no glance. No, better left
in dire grass, facing a predator,
than feeling this
absence, lapsed vow
beside the others’ mimicking
cries. No use crying,
little ones. Never will she fly
home. No, never again.
