bird song

bird song

published in zoeglossia

jamie hale

each winter convinced that i am dying

the signs point to no the crow balanced

on my hospital bed laughs i

do not laugh back it’s how the days

curl in on themselves wincing from cold

they do not wish to be out after dark

and suddenly

my scalp is bleeding it must be the bird

or you it is hard to tell men from winged

demons you ponderous you slick with oil

and rotted fish maybe i become a bird myself

gash the scalp of the child. who does not wish

to be out after dark who does not wish

to become a bird

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