Fissures
In the compost pile, a hatchling—
held in the hollow half of an avocado,
all new-freckled feathers and bald belly.
I scooped it to my palm, felt its beat steady
against my own cracks
and thought of pulverizing worms,
pipettes of whatever it is baby birds drink.
I thought, this,
this I can fix.
This, I can save.
1 reply on “Fissures”
Got any more by Allison Collins?
Obviously a fine talent. Would like to hear how she handles longer forms. The discipline within this short poem is very impressive.