The Brilliant Fragments
To kneel by the cochinealhead of the dead.Fragments—grammarbroken along the way.I tell you the birdsdropped at my feet, eleven of them, sucked out of the sky, whole.I return home.I report the details.The men who attemptto control animalstell me to bag each one,though I am afraidto touch their brightstillness— the blank eyes in their blank heads. It is all wrong.as are the chemical cloudsdrifting from the fieldswhere the cows makeus milk and meat.The sunsets beautifully hued:oozy pink, infected apricot. Day after day of wrong color.And then farm trucks encirclethe town and spraya silver-white fogto neutralize the air.Twinkling stitchedto the sky like ghosts beading the wind.
Copyright © 2019 by Hadara Bar-Nadav.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
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