How you glared as we entered your space,
away your raised wings said, away from our nest-pilings,
or your bones we’ll break as our name remembers,
fillet you like a gudgeon in our claws,
shred you like a lovely hake for our nestlings’ dinner,
calling for sliced glut herring,
menhaden you wished me to be,
as you flexed your night-shelving wing-crooks,
your black eyeline arrowed at me.
Daniel A. Rabuzzi (he / him) has had two novels, five short stories, 30 poems, and nearly 50 essays / articles published. He lived eight years in Norway, Germany and France. He has degrees in the study of folklore & mythology and European history. He lives in New York City with his artistic partner & spouse, the woodcarver Deborah A. Mills, and the requisite cat.
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