Poem by John Grey


 

Blood on The Snow

At six p.m.,
there’s blood on the snow
from where the eagle
swooped down on the squirrel,
from where it shook its life loose,
sprinkled it across the white
like a sunset.

At six p.m.,
I check all of my body parts
to make sure they still contain me,
that I’m not the splashy evidence
of a previous feasting
somewhere in the sky.

It’s six p.m.
there’s hunger in the air,
and many are the creatures
that set an unwitting table

 

Photography © Steve Warren

Photography © Steve Warren

 

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions and Sanskrit with work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Gargoyle, Coal City Review and the Coe Review.

Steve Warren’s interests are in the healing arts, poetry, photography, dance, the nutritional arts and much more. He is a peer specialist in the recovery movement.

 

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