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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.



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