breaking out into feathers the roadkill on noble street is reliable. always one by the bottom of the hill & one near the parker's drive way & another deposited by commonwealth road. i'd hold mini funerals in my head as i'd walk past squirrels & rabbits & the occasional folded bird on my way to middle school. saying to myself, "i bet they thought they were headed towards more green." saying, "i wish i could burry you." i tried once. this one particular bird with its wings splayed out as if statued in mid-flight. hints of iridecense made dawn light echo in her feathers. i'd stolen a ziploc bag from the cupboard & thought i could use it to lift the bird at least into the nearby field. i knelt down & couldn't do it. not because the body replused me but because the bird stared into me & saw my bones with what was left of her bold black eyes. i knew what it was like for her to perch & flock & flush. i thought she'd start thrashing if i grasped her. come alive & refuse to be buried. i gave up though & left her there. watched slowly as she turned from feather to meat to bone. i learned too much from those creatures. found morning and mourning to be closer than they seemed. how daybreak comes to remind us of our bodies & their sequences. all my short funerals i attended in secret. walking over & over. when i visit my parent's house i still amble the same path each morning. i am a scheme of habits & re-memories. there's no sidewalk on noble street & sometimes the cars drive too close. yesterday a truck's side grazed my shoulder & i could have sworn i broke out in feathers. my heart quick as a bird's as i watched the tail lights dissapear into the corn fields. all these animals are still resting in me. how have i become a catacomb for brief lives.