At the park, a single feather 
on the path,
a spattering of more, 

then a concentrated
rip and toss collage
of tufts and clotted

wings. Pause, pay
attention, read
for meaning,
we are taught. I try.

Yet, even this jag 
of breastbone,
color of torn lace, 
this sternum ​and slow

curvature of ribs
is, in my hand,
an open book.
Blank line after line,

the scene stays
just bird plus dead.

MICHELLE HENDRIXSON-MILLER lives in Columbia, Tn. She is an MFA candidate at Queens University of Charlotte, where she served as poetry editor of Qu Literary Magazine. Her poems have most recently appeared appeared in Poem, Poems & PlaysJosephine QuarterlyMain Street Rag, and The Lake. 

The Adirondack Review