The Feathers That Fell Yesterday by Daniel Boyko

i.

Winged birds. Executioner—thundering noise. Feathers.

The image plays over and over in my head like wind currents.

ii.

The blast envelops the sky like an egg dropped

into a pan, spreading to the edges. Ripples float

through the air, shifting my shoulders.

The feathers fall like snowy powder, so soft

they might melt if I touch them. The executioner

and his metal don’t laugh, only gripping

the fallen carcasses like plane luggage. I only stare,

silent like an empty forest. I whisper to myself

that I would have said something.

Their souls fly away on broken wings.

---

Daniel Boyko is a writer from New Jersey. His work appears or is forthcoming in SOFTBLOW, Nanoism, Eunoia Review, and The Aurora Journal, among others. He serves as Editor-in-Chief of Polyphony Lit. Wherever his dog is, he can’t be far behind.