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Poetry Archives

A continuing selection of classic and contemporary poems.

The Corpse Bird

Ron Rash

Bed-sick she heard the bird’s call
fall soft as a pall that night
quilts tightened around her throat,
her grey eyes narrowed, their light
gone as she saw what she’d heard
waiting for her in the tree
cut down at daybreak by kin
to make the coffin, bury
that perch around her so death
might find one less place to rest.
© 2000 Ron Rash. All rights reserved.
From Among the Believers | Iris Press, 2000
Reprinted by permission of the author.
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