fall 2018 / Poetry 2018 / volume 49

A Morning in December—Michelle Hartman

large buzzard
sways on pole
December winds howl

his head turned
stares at me

white neck ruff
flutters delicately

small animals run
and die, he
gives no notice

I tap my foot
change radio station
glance again
eye-to-eye he

sunlight breaks
a ray pointing east
he knows where
I hid the body

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