Rediscovery of the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker

look, my father indicated the

body on the ground

it cracked the window. heard

it die.

​

there was still

ice in the grass

​

i had seen one

of these

once,

a mausoleum in a

filing cabinet

​

but here time did not

dull his jaunty red

against the blue grass

the bonewhite bill i could

hear the echo of the

little heart racing only

moments ago

​

wings a shadow of

black flight feathers curled

up to catch

the sun

​

kneeled beneath the

window the fog

of my breath dewing

the glass (biting back

tears i did not wish

for him to see me cry)

​

what a shame. he was so big,

and so beautiful. and i

could still smell the acrid

eternity of

life wrought by

catalogue

​

turned to my father's morning eyes

i have a shoe box in the garage

we can put him underneath

the willow by

the water

​

a huff and my father is

next to me easing his

cracking joints an arm

around my

shoulder i realize

​

he did not wake me,

to ask me what he found

(i realize, now, the

weight it carried)

​

a pact,

​

​

​

to bury the bird.

​

​

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