Allie Marini
ISBN: 978-1-949099-08-9
23 pages

yesterday a raven died in the driveway. after an hour, ants started to swarm — I couldn't bear to check & see if it was really gone — the ants got to the eyes first. Sunday sermon says, when a man starts off weak, he's subject to sin. so what match does a bird have, starting off as brittle, airy bones that sputter out on driveways or chapel carpeting? last week, a dying house finch flew into the chapel where I was on my knees in supplication. a few last wild breaths — there it goes — up in prayer, up in smoke, up in a soft tremble of feathers. the house finch left a smear of blood on the carpeting, crashed into the sunlit glass, hobbling in to beg for salvation. I slid a bible under its tiny body & set it in the garden. won't be long before the ants come — what a wasted life. they plow their bodies into windows & seem surprised when their shadow splits in two.