Sparrow
by Heather Quinn
i watched a fledgling sparrow fly
from its nest to its mother
no, let me begin again
it did not fly but landed
at my feet after it was propelled
from the tree in front of my childhood home
by a rock thrown by a gangly boy bigger older
the tree was painted with dry pigment
no, it grew of bark
& leaf but i reconstruct
the sparrow’s slippery skin
damp slickened feathers
its seedling heart visible
through translucent membranes
beak snapping open & closed
squawk with no sound
Munch’s Scream
i picked up the baby bird
held it like a damp lung in my hand
nursed it with water & seed
no, what really happened was dad
said we had to leave it or momma
sparrow would never return
we knew momma was off
building a new nest
the O of the baby’s beak
an alarm, until feathers
wings flattened
in shallow grass
like a fried egg
yet the sparrow lives
pecking
at my sternum, sipping
oxygen from my windpipe
clawing for its perch
About the Author
Heather Quinn is a poet who lives in awe of the creative spirit & its mysterious movement through each of us. She finds the current shelter-in-place restrictions an opportunity to discover old & new artistic forms, & to dig deeper into the well of collective imagination. She was a finalist in House Mountain Review's 2019 Broadside contest, a semi-finalist in Cuthroat's 2020 Joy Harjo's Poetry Prize & Prometheus Dreaming's 2019 Unbound Competition, & was featured in Palette Poetry's "Poetry We Admire" column for her poem “Shroud with Lead Wing” published in Raw Art Review. Recent publishing credits include 42 Miles Press, Cathexis Northwest Press, Ghost City Review, Headline Poetry & Press, High Shelf Press, Inkwell Press, Kissing Dynamite Poetry, & Burninghouse Press. You can find her on Instagram at @hquinnpoet.