Poetry | Marie-Louise Eyres

Yard Kill

There are no wolves here
few coyotes either
but the fox 
who visits
leaves trophies 
of his hunt
the headless rabbit 
one eye 
still intact 
a foot away
detached 
still startled 
by the catch 
so fast 
the fox 
must have hit 
like flying gravel 
when a truck pulls in
and that eye 
was scattered 
on our grass 

when I found 
the carcass 
I didn’t know what I saw
a pile of 
jewels 
a twisted 
plastic bag 
no those are glossy organs
still perfect and coloured
like the fallen 
robin’s egg 
like spring azaleas 
that have yet 
to bloom 
a kidney, one stomach 
and a heart.


Cardinal

One bird lies beneath the thick
white snow for days
before we find it thawed
and soft as if newly felled.

Blue feathers peek out 
beneath the red, a perfect 
horned-beak, proud crest sits
stiff and neat.

Unfurled talons, ready to catch 
small prey in the afterlife
the large-eared field mouse
I found on these same steps, weeks back.

I pop the bird over next door’s fence
same place I dropped the mouse.
A dozen red copies dot about the trees
tail feathers hang like hot peppers

like question marks.


Marie-Louise is a winner in the Poetry Society “Lesser Loss” Member’s competition. She was long listed twice in the National Poetry Competition (2020, 2019). Recent and upcoming poems can be found in Stand, Agenda, Portland Review and elsewhere

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