Fence
And the fence needs
built, and I
of course, say yes to
the secret language of
wire, of keep out,
of property, and respect
the landowner, then the land,
so I drive the backhoe;
the hydraulic breath, spiderlike,
blows smoke through
the brush, and
a bird is hit
by the blade I push.
A bird, the bird,
an eagle, young, ugly,
fearsome,
bald but truly
defeathered and bleeding
and peep peep peep,
the unnerving blood.
It squawks in my hand,
and I remember the words,
A fossil we can leave,
but something of life lived
before, bury and destroy. I
left smashed stones,
sharpened, and clay, hardened,
in my wake, and again,
a symbol in my hand,
and I thought to free it to
life unknown and wolves,
Think. It’s easier with chew.
But it’s gone,
and I looked up
to the hills, feeling watched,
a spine of rock, fishlike
fearsome,
sent as punishment from
God, or a god, another,
so I grabbed and twisted the feathered neck,
then buried the eagle
beneath a Copenhagen headstone,
a signpost of a secret language
that I’d try to speak
to others at home
around my five-hundred dollar table,
cast-off wood, covered in tobacco tin lids,
a hundred at five dollars, each,
and epoxy, a joke
of excess.
by Tyler Julian
from Echotheo Review