A bird

by David Stillwagon

A bird lay dead in the back yard
I circled around it
As if there were danger to consider
Its eyes were open
As open as any bird still in flight
Its wings were crushed
Evidence of an enemy
That stalked and waited for
A careless landing
The stalker took little from the
Bird except its ability to soar
I buried the bird like all its fallen comrades
In the garden of crushed wings

David Stillwagon has poetry in Word Catalyst, Greenbeard, and Lit-up Magazine, and poetry in an upcoming issue of Clockwise Cat. He lives in Atlanta with his wife and son.
Back to Issue One: Fall 2008