by Eve Linn


The day dark but not unforgiving
premonition of bare branches

cinnamon pine straw, stripped fern
fronds the color of tea, flash of reddening

crab apples and apex of beaks, open
not touching anything but that one fruit

returning without relent to fill their small
stomachs, their little bent paper clip legs—

How marvelous their balance
Some have already started

migrating the instinctual longing
for warmth in their hollow bones

On the north shore there is a rare sighting
Hudsonian godwits, their long troweled

beaks shovel brined morsels for sustenance
on their journey from the Arctic to Argentina

their flight close to music as wings stir air

Is it possible the world can lift off its axis
or does it simply go on unaware of these

little revelations—

Eve F.W. Linn received her M.F.A. in Poetry from Lesley University. Her first chapbook, Model Home (2019), is available from River Glass Books. Her poems have appeared in journals including Crosswinds Poetry Journal, Nixes Mate Review, and Thimble Literary Magazine. She is a peer reviewer for Whale Road Review. She loves cats, strong coffee, and thunderstorms.