2.
the dermatologist looks over my skin or if something has been branded he burns off damage with ice i have enough skin i think 4. the apple blossoms are the same color white i take a photo of the diaphanous white flesh i furiously claw out the decaying earth i ask my son to get gloves on, to help me throw he says that he can see their eyes each grub would have grown into a flying thing there is nothing as white as death i share the image of wings in the light 7. find a dead crow on my lawn i put on a glove a carry it to where my son pokes at it wants to save its skeleton and promptly bring him inside to wash his hands but i fear it is—so i resist mythologizing on the earth directly in front 19. i kill a colony of ants today queen somewhere under names 21. in the dream a woman each person was mutilated without sound each victim stood up and succumbed as if none of my cohorts seemed to care the woman came next for a young sickly girl and i kept screaming what is wrong with you? were appalled i was speaking up it is a beautiful thing when done gracefully sir but she didn’t she stood there stunned but the girl and her mother gave me a weak why no one was angry Scott Ferry helps our Veterans heal as a RN in the Seattle area. His most recent books are 500 Hidden Teeth (Meat For Tea), Sapphires on the Graves (Glass Lyre), and dear tiny flowers (Sheila-Na-Gig). Image: stock.adobe.com Check out HFR’s book catalog, publicity list, submission manager, and buy merch from our Spring store. Follow us on Instagram and YouTube. Disclosure: HFR is an affiliate of Bookshop.org and we will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. Sales from Bookshop.org help support independent bookstores and small presses.
to see if something dead has boiled up
from under the surface
a rusted car with intact remains
into my hide by ultraviolet
by hate and cruelty
dried blood on the map of man
before it grows its own body inside mine
before the child inside
is hijacked
to grow back any voice
any voice i have saved
from the fire
as the grubs which are destroying my lawn
of the flower against the blue blood of the sky
and uncover each curled alabaster larvae
each transparent insect in the bin
he says he can see their hearts and blue blood
my son handles them gently as he discards them
nothing as bloody as birth
i bury the blind in the dark
there is nothing poetic about it
i will remember to put it in the trash
i say no we do not know how it died
i don’t want to think it is a bad omen
the death of a messenger of death
of my feet
poison on a countertop
sticking tiny bodies
together
the house slowly dying
as her dutiful servants
feed her forbidden
kept choosing people to torture
or even kill in the room we waited in
or complaint like they were
on the news
they were compelled by duty and i just got angrier
and began cursing where i sat
that people were being slaughtered
and admonished me for resisting
and i stood up and said no no take me you
sick fucker don’t you dare take her
why are you doing this? and all the remaining
people in the room, the soon to be sacrificed,
again i asked the woman why she was murdering
these innocent people and she replied
and i kept thinking she was going to make
me kneel and begin cutting off my ears
because i was getting in the way of her job
i was the difficult customer
smile and i continued to shout and stomp around
wondering why i was there
Heavy Feather Review 