a body of looser skin. Stonier blood. A body of work
carved from moss and mud. Planted with the seeds
of memory and history.
While tracing my fingers along the outline of my hips,
a robin smashes against the window with a blind thump.
A clump of feathers mixed with pink smear across glass.
The rain dilutes the past, too fast, neutralizing evidence
before there’s time for reverence or for prayer.
Redbreast. Red feathers. No longer there.
I dread what I will later have to do-
scoop up the lifeless form. Bury it in the earth
with roots and worms.
young bird and I-
we never saw it coming.
Loretta Oleck is a poet and psychotherapist. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in High Coupe, Black Lawrence Press, Word Riot, The Westchester Review, Feminist Studies, The Mom Egg, Laughing Earth, Poetica Magazine, Still Point Arts Quarterly, Marco Polo Arts Magazine, among numerous others. More recently her work has been read at The Hudson Valley Center for Contemporary Art. She holds a Masters degree in Creative Writing from New York University.