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Laurie Klein
the meaning of grain as each toss scatters
the carrion birds. Stranded,
a nestling, grayer than thinning
bone, mirrors the littlest
refugees: twig feet
traverse the earth, and opaque
as enamel, those eyes shine. In the rubble,
an old man cradles a heel of black
bread to his breast, as if
any moment, fate may brandish
surprise knives. Whatever follows
the question of Cain, be it stutters
or piety’s yeasty pride,
we’re all beggars here, clumped
wings stuck, throats sky-wide.
Laurie Klein's poetry and prose has appeared in The Southern Review, Mars Hill Review, Commonweal, New Letters, Tiferet, The New Pantagruel, The Healing Muse, and numerous journals and anthologies, sacred and secular. Her chapbook, Bodies of Water, Bodies of Flesh, won the 2004 Predator Press Competition. Laurie loves to garden, eat, ride her recumbent bike, and read. She also serves as consulting editor at Rock & Sling: A Journal of Literature, Art and Faith.
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