Washington College's Student Literary and Arts Journal

Stop the Birds from Giving Up

They empty feathery nests,
smoke cigarettes for breakfast,
and grow black lung trees.

If you asked them anything
about their flight maladies,
they might croak something like:

my wings started folded up—
my chest was a suitable drawer.


when they said ‘down’ I forgot
I had feathers with the same name.


I built this nest inside myself, so
I have a darker place to hide


why do you want to know anyway?
Find your own forest to burn.

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