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Poetry | October 2018

Wordling

By Rachel Bower

A baby blackbird hops madly at the base of an oak
unable to get lift. It lurches from tree to tree,
desperately.

A conker falls too soon. When the child stamps
she finds only a pale heart nestled in velvet,
embryonic.

Offal falls from the womb. Crocuses sprout under paving.
A chicken spots a streak of wet yolk and crumples,
aghast.

These are noises in the throat, not yet formed.

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