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She shreds her old life,
plucking primaries like a knife
thrust reversed, rachides
cracked, barbs catching
at this new skin until
trust pulled taut
fractures her peaceful future,
beloveds disbelieving
finery spun from flight,
her word a fairy tale.

Once upon a second time,
she refuses to lose the feathers.
Fed up, she sharpens her beak,
demands a man act
like a crane in love, laughing
at his toes, his ugly gait.
His unrequited trust
pierces her through the sternum.
So what? She's lived this long
with a heart full of holes.



Mary Alexandra Agner writes of dead women, telescopes, and secrets. Her poetry, stories, and nonfiction have appeared in The Cascadia Subduction ZoneShenandoah, and Sky & Telescope, respectively. She can be found online at http://www.pantoum.org.
Current Issue
5 Jun 2023

Jackson sat at Kay’s bedside, one of her hands laid atop his, palm to palm, fingertips against the soft inside of her wrist. His fingers measured her temperature and pulse, her blood pressure, and her blood oxygen levels. She was no weaker or stronger today than yesterday. He was unsurprised and uneasy. Her vitals were regular with sleep. She had been resting when he returned from the shore.
You do not mean this as slang.
certain people of the town go outside, kick off their shoes
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