Jan/Feb 2019 Poetry

Winter, Two Weeks

by Matt Morgan

Image salvaged from public domain

Winter, Two Weeks

compelled by some mute instinct—
that 1% Spaniel?—my mutt, Suttree, frees
the bird's blood-red body at my feet;
a cardinal, not yet frozen, but a small,
brilliant offering still—as if to say,
it was his turn with the groceries—
as if to say, look what else falls from the sky.


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