j e s s i c a n e w m a n |
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Of Which There Wasn't |
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A yard of dirt and scampering things: boy and softened bird. They moved in curves, in air, in ways that took them elsewhere. The boy’s feet were brown and curled and brought him across the earth. His shouts hung, then passed. This dream of bird, all fluff and jointed bone. Gentled to a sphere, it could not quite find the air. The sun was once so soft a yellow. Then there beneath his foot it became a loosened creature. Bone slipped from skin. The wet of it against the hard earth. He brought it to them paled, leaking between his hands. His English was mixed with sounds from farther places. “I put it on a flower,” he said. They bent, came down. They took him in their hands. |
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JESSICA NEWMAN lives in Brooklyn. Recent work can be found or is forthcoming in Unsaid, Caketrain, Birkensnake, the Mud Luscious chapbook series and others. |
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a l i c e b l u e t w e l v e I S S N 1 5 5 9 - 6 5 6 7 |