No one retrieves the dead
this winter: there’s a cat
along Market Street, iced
so hard it could be bronze,
or the opossum we thought
was a dingy snow bank,
at the mouth to the clinic lot
a squirrel squashed so hard
the fringes of his blackened skin
meld to the asphalt, his tweaked
bones, arranged as Stonehenge, call
two-dimensional gods for revenge:
clear the way for the frigid wind
to cease the irreverence we do.
Jared Pearce’s collection, The Annotated Murder of One, was released by Aubade last year ( His poems have recently been, or will soon be shared in Aji, Adelaide, The Aurorean, Xavier Review, and Armarolla. For samples and current doings, you’re invited to
Photography by Jury S. Judge.