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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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