The Burial
Spring arrived with a thud at the window
and the loose neck of a sudden corpse.
I found it in the mad sunshine, with eyes
snapped shut and wings tucked in;
a feathered grub plucked belly side up.
Its static talons clung stiff
to the breeze as I held its tiny weight
on my palm. Digging through
severed roots, I shored an only grave,
fit for a runt
and placed the prim body
at its cold end. I spilled the mound
over, to clog the pit,
inviting blind slitherers back
to pick down the carcass –
its restless heart still wet.
Now the daffs bow their heads
and the robin waits
on the wall,
keen to beak the turnings.
Dan Stathers is from Kingsbridge in South Devon. After studying creative writing at the Open University, Dan was awarded the William Hunter Sharpe Memorial Scholarship by The University of Edinburgh (for poetry). He likes football and Border Terriers.
This poem was first published in Obsessed With Pipework, 2013