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black bird

by Salena Wiener

black bird

I sit in my kitchen

pour my cereal and the 

milk as the dark bird slowly

picks at my flowers


she followed me out 

of your room, where she'd

left marks on my neck

burrowed herself in my ribcage

found bone between my 

hips and ripped the flesh


she used to scream

in the pitch black, but

now she whispers as I sip 

my morning coffee


Salena Wiener

Salena Wiener lives in Montreal, and is pursuing her undergraduate degree in English Literature Honours at Concordia University. She is a former Prose Editor for Soliloquies Anthology Magazine, and her poetry is featured in Pulp Poets Press, Peculiars Magazine, Cauldron Anthology, Subversions: A Journal of Feminist Queries, and Graphite Publications. Twitter: @salena_wiener.

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