Two Earthlings 2, 48X48, John Brosio
At the Station
I wonder about the young girl
who pauses in rain-soaked grass
to notice a dead pigeon.
Not content with a glance,
she squats over the bird-body and squints
like she has the sun
in her eyes.
I’m seeing this.
the glistening data in her mind,
the way fingers might rotate a river stone
to check for some mystery,
She wants to know.
On its breast, a sweaty sore unfolds.
Nobody knows what happened.
Every body knows.
The hand of a woman, immediate
as its perception, coaxes the girl by the arm
toward a different kind of dying.
The other, clings a plastic sack
swollen with groceries, hanging
heavy from curled fingers
like testicles after a hot bath.
in and out of focus
like ghosts lost