She lay withering on the pavement,
swollen with grief,
feathers twitching with the hot dusty breeze.
Left abandoned,
broken, and in pain.
There was no explanation for her condition,
only a sordid pile of feathers to be seen.
Once beautiful and soaring
from moon to sea.
Now an end approaching
and blood-drenched
of me.
Her flock circled,
trying to nudge life.
She was quickly fading with the lies
sold to her
and hung like hooks inside the meat of her heart.
She was losing.
a battle,
a war,
a broken king in her wake,
a now deserted queen
never to be saved.
She quivered in the heat,
last breaths of a love
she will never again know.
In an instant—
in a jaw dropping death-punch,
Her flock circled.
A last call for life,
final cry for uprising.
In the vein of her unanswered screams for mercy
she lay back down
to silence.
Letting go
and finding rest
in her overpowering sense of
Photo: HENRY VARNUM POOR (1888–1970) Dead Crow, circa 1943

You may also like


    1. I’m sorry you can relate, Yvette. Nothing worse than a broken heart. Thank you for reading… and for sharing in my grief.

  1. This speaks to me in a thousand voices; and they all echo inside of me. Every time I read it, it breaks me. But it’s the sort of breaking you come back to. Every time I read this, even if it’s been exactly a year since the last time, it still remains exactly as powerful as the first time. Thank you for sharing and for putting in words all that we too have sadly felt in our lives…

    1. Thank you, my friend. I appreciate so much the reminder of my true voice. I write to remind me, and you, that we are not alone. We’ve all been to dark places, and with love and nudging, we can all make it back. xoxo

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

five × one =