MARC FRAZIER, AUTHOR
MARC FRAZIER, AUTHOR

ILLINOIS ARTS COUNCIL AWARD IN POETRY

CHIMNEY SPARROWS PUBLISHED IN PRIMAVERA

Chimney
Swifts

 

He did it by the storm cellar.

He filled a bucket with water, set it on the ground.

We couldn’t think of one reason

to drown little black birds.

When my sister cried, he said it had to be done.

 

We said we would never grow up,

that we would rather die.

We did not watch so we never knew where he put

the bodies. But his
hands became powerless to touch us.

 

She belonged to his world in some things

and we avoided her for it,

this strange woman whose hands

were always leaving her side to create space,

to move things about, to bring something warm to her breast.

 

The next morning he cooked bacon and eggs.

He stood motionless but for one arm

scrambling eggs while mother

with fluttering hands prepared a table.


 

 

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THE WAY HERE

 

POEMS BY

 

MARC J. FRAZIER

 

ALDRICH PRESS

 

 

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