Poems by Kathleen Balma
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Dead Cardinal
by Kathleen Balma
From Canary Spring 2016
Kathleen lives at the mouth of the Mississippi on the Gulf Coast of the US.
Scarlet clouds against blue carpet:
half-circle of feathers on the floor,
as if the last act were a sweeping
of the wing. Nothing was ever this red.
I found him lying in the living room.
The round profile of his breast
made a treble clef of his body—
plumes legato; bird, whole rest.
Across the room the cat sang
a crying through closed mouth,
her aria of alarm (I barely heard her
solo. I was listening for a soaring.)
—the corpse eye stiff in openness
like new fruit in a tree blossom.
© Kathleen Balma