Content Warning: death, bones, gore

Beth Brooke – Roadkill

Bone splinters, needle-fine;

purple feathers waft in the breeze

that cannot restore

this bird to flight,

warm it into preening.

wings that sliced

the sky now carrion:

blood congealed,

guts blackened,

glued to the road.

Flattened remnant,

beak twisted, eyes stare

unseeing at the empty sky.

Beth Brooke is a retired teacher. She was born in the Middle East but now lives in Dorset. Her debut collection, A Landscape With Birds will be published later this year by Hedgehog Poetry Press. She Tweets as @BethBrooke8.

Photograph: Felled by Raegen Pietrucha

Raegen Pietrucha writes, edits, and consults creatively and professionally. Her chapbook, An Animal I Can't Name, won the 2015 Two of Cups Press competition; her debut poetry collection, Head of a Gorgon, is forthcoming with Vegetarian Alcoholic Press in May; and she has a memoir in progress. She received her MFA from Bowling Green State University, where she was an assistant editor for Mid-American Review. Her work has been published in Cimarron Review, Puerto del Sol, and other journals. Connect with her at raegenmp.wordpress.com and on Twitter @freeradicalrp.