Losses That Walk

posted Jul 1, 2014

From the road, a distant house half-hiding in an assembly
             of trees. The woman comes home through calf-high snow, face
a crust of molded glass. Door locked and key lost. Still, she beats

the only door. From the house darkness a sparrow
             slams into the window, sends her ass-to-earth. One panel of glass

cracked, just interior black, and the noise of snow. It's a long time
to wait in an outhouse for someone to come let the bird out.

Adam Day's forthcoming collection is A Model of City in Civil War (Sarabande Books, April 2015), and he is the recipient of a PSA Chapbook Fellowship for Badger, Apocrypha, and of a PEN Emerging Writers Award. His work has appeared in the Boston Review, Lana Turner, APR, Poetry London, AGNI, The Iowa Review, and elsewhere. He coordinates The Baltic Writing Residency in Latvia, Scotland, and Bernheim Arboretum & Research Forest.