How it feels when the bird goes splat

A couple of years ago I wrote a story about birds and windows, and learned that millions upon millions of birds die every year after hitting windows. Kevin Prufer noticed, as only a poet can:

Something hit the office window hard
so now there's a smear
that won't be washed away
until it rains.

Red and vaguely
heart shaped, it appears
to hover over
the city like someone's idea

of love..

Far below
the morning grows moneyed and quiet,
the last of us
having emerged from our tunnels

and ridden
the long elevators up our buildings'
throats. Even the birds
are at peace on our distant

trees and power lines.
When the keyboards' noise
resumes, I play through
the scene again—

the silent towers,
a crack against the bright glass,
and a burst of black

Kevin Prufer

The Southern Review
Summer 2014

Note: I'm out on section e of the Pacific Crest Trail: back in a week or so. Thanks for listening. 

Published by Kit Stolz

I'm a freelance reporter and writer based in Ventura County.

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