Birds Are Prayers: I Never Told Him
These attic windows are old and high, heart-stained to seduce the sun down. While I sleep, someone pull the bleeding thing through the morning forest where we kissed. Bury it there.
He’ll find it like dead birds he picks off the road. He’ll arrange it in a box with random objects, melt beeswax around it. Call it Art.
He won’t notice the whole world died as he collects its bones, feathers, and races away inspired.
Ariel Dawn lives in Victoria, British Columbia. Recent writing appears in Scraps flash fiction anthology, Black & Blue, The Bohemyth, Ambit, Ginosko and Paper Swans. She is working on her first novel.
Birds Are Prayers: I Never Told Him: first published in Bare Hands Poetry