by Kelly

Before the cold snap

a pheasant ducks through the woods –

Thoughts of my grandpa.

Unusual warmth,

so the dogs and I press on –

Still, though, that pheasant…

Wild turkey, fox

deer, coyotes in our woods.

Pheasants? Not pheasants.

Grandpa hunted them.

Stuffed pheasants flew through his house –

Was that one a sign?

Almost at my door

when the dogs flush three pheasants

from beside the shed.

The dogs bark, the birds

stumble from the underbrush

dragging crumpled leaves.

I drop the leashes,

scream before I see the birds

fighting to escape

From inside me, a

wild, uncontrollable laugh

rushes forth — then tears.

Equally wild and

uncontrollably, I sob

there in the driveway.

Maybe they were just

pheasants, just birds. Or maybe

they were my grandpa.

by Alison

a large ant carries

a small dead fly on the floor-

I kill it

by Kelly

winter just won’t go

it must want my first born child

it missed the memo

by Kelly

Damn it! Snow. Again.

This winter will never die.

I don three layers.

by Kelly

another dead mouse

in the recycling bin —

I cry for lost lives

by Kelly

dead fly on counter–

naked trees stand bravely in

anemic sunlight

by Alison

“Bella’s in the sky

flying with the birds” she says

pointing to heaven

by Kelly

crop of white mushrooms

where we cut out a dead tree —

nature remembers

by Kelly

two lips opening –

this orchid-like wild flower

wilts as I pick it

by Kelly

pure shrieks of terror

ten minutes after lights out –

bunny becomes food