Through The Fence Wire

The Pentecostal church flaunts bars
over its windows, trapping
                                                                                                                       
sunlight in split-eyed beams                                 In light of certain
over pews. Outside,
                                                                                         circumstances
 a crow pulls at gum                                                               
melted on the sidewalk, then pecks                                             and the barbed wire
                                                                                               
at flakes of paint from what                                             around my neck
used to be a parking spot. The bird
                                                                             I can’t say I blame you
takes the sky. A single feather
helicopters down, lands on the first                                  on the tip
                                                                                                                       
doorstep. Days later, following                                                of my tongue a treasure
a brief electrical storm, the feather
                                                                                         chest full of broken
will muster the courage to move—
detached from its plumaged whole.                      teeth and cob webs wedged
                            
A man dressed in a cut-off jean vest                                firm between my brain
will look through the fence wire
                                                                                                     and skull the pain still
marking the church’s boundaries.
He will find the lone feather swirling                   a fraction away

down the sidewalk, exiting in stride.                       years under earth
He will fasten it to the brim of his
                                                                                               
dusted fedora and walk to the nearest
gas station to peddle for a dime or cigarette.









Kyle Gray currently resides in Knoxville, Tennessee where he is a recent graduate of the University of Tennessee. He works in a kitchen and serves as intern at Sundress Publications. This is his first published work.