No Sign

The rest of us woke up without you. It wasn’t so bad
until a bird slammed into my window, falling
backwards onto the porch. Her wings
flayed outwards. Her head limp. There was no sign,
no gentle pumping beneath her breast, no blood draped across her
crown. I must have looked deranged when I gestured
to a passer-by this swift transition. Remember
this happened once before? We were side by side on bikes.
A pair of baby birds hopping around to take flight. The one
seemed to say, “See! Like this!” right before
you ran over its neck, the sound unforgettable.
I’ve felt nothing ever since.

Kristy McCoy earned her BFA from Penn State Erie and her MFA from the University of North Carolina Wilmington. She currently teaches English Composition at Penn State Erie. She tries to juggle all that motherhood and partnership will allow.

She grew up on a military base in Seoul, South Korea, to her American father and Korean mother. Her original creative work started out in nonfiction but she came out the other side writing poetry.

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