by Ashley Roach-Freiman

is all birds, in the end
it’s throwing the birds with ham fist
throwing then
feather explosion shimmering frisson 
of blue red black tawny feathers
& tiniest bones look look look 
bird bones they’re not like my bones
even a little bit or the bones of anyone i know so
fragile so delicate you knit
with them tiny needles you pierce
your daughter’s ears, if you had a daughter
but what you have is a handful of birds
and your heart the rifle
your tongue licks the ground like a plate
taste all the feathers
and bloody clay