Flight 

by Kathryn V. Jacopi 

The road paved hard under two-door trucks
bleached by sizzle and over exposure
rivers over miles of country.
Flanked by daughters, 5 and 7
picked up just that morning.
Must be going, start the job tomorrow.
A bird lands on the wire guardrail.
They point, they cry, they’re pulled along.
The bird’s negative space for the sky.
 
*
Slatted sunlight, no shoes
head bowed, cold fingers dig his neck.
She cartwheeled in the driveway
before the blackout
before the shovel
before her sister brained a bird
And pulled out the feathers.
 
*
Three homes, five years.
Her hair is short.
Her fingers didn’t heal straight.
She sneaks a cigarette
in the woods behind the house.
She snuffs the smoke
under bare foot, picks up a rock.
 
    

An adjunct professor for Fairfield University English Department, Kathryn V. Jacopi's writing has appeared in Cease, Cows, Statorec, and Hysteria Anthology. She has poems forthcoming in Pudding Magazine and Fjords Review. Her poem "Soapbox" received first place for the Hysteria 2016 poetry contest.