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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 3, September 2018
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Bill Gottlieb
Loch Lomond, California, USA


After Burying Another

The songbird died this morning, after a burst of rain, in a cold wind.

I’d removed the sleeping bag and towels my motherly wife had yesterday warmly draped about the trayless birdcage, after I’d lowered it over the fisty bird’s cat-battered body. There were no wounds discernible, the cloak of wings all close and comely—but the fat fluffy redhead wouldn’t fly. She worried the limits of her diminishing world, ate a seed or two of the feed my wife had provided, disappeared under our anxious care.

the dead of night
devoured
worm moon

And when this massive morning I unveiled her, she started like a heart’s last spasm, toppled in a twist to one soft side, tightened the lighted dots of her eyes, died.

Tonight I pet my cat, my favorite killer.

under bare oaks
a graveyard
grows

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