Jennifer Browne

Antrostomus vociferus | Eastern Whip-poor-will


Whip-poor-will, here you
are, a caution appearing
on the sill. Little corpse-
bird, the body is already
cold, and there is no one
else to tell the stories
of their red-soil Alabama
childhood. What can any
of us do but try to be still,
be safe, feathers blending
with the fallen leaves,
and in the dark, dark night,
sing the only song we have
in conspicuous throats.