The Angel in my Yard
The sparrow lies in the grass, partially flayed
its tiny white ribs exposed to the sun. A halo
of little brown feathers surround it
as though carefully removed and placed
and not ripped out and spat out
by a mouthful of hungry teeth.
Under the crooked branches of an apple tree
my cat methodically licks one paw, then the other
shaking his head as little bits of gray fluff
stick to his tongue. He eyes the remains of the little bird
as if wondering if any further excavation
is worth the effort.
The Mouse in the Snow
The first crow lands on the snow, follows the tiny footprints
with hops and leaps of its own. The little mouse
habituated to inside temperatures, has already stopped moving
sits shivering in the icy hollow, ready to just give up.
The crow watches the little mouse shivering as if not knowing
what it’s supposed to do, or maybe they’re talking, I can’t tell.
A second crow joins the first, and then they’re talking about something,
and then they’re flying away, the little mouse clutched
in the first one’s beak. I imagine
they’re taking it somewhere warm, like in a fairy tale
their hearts swollen with pity for this creature I just set outside.
Perhaps it’s a girl mouse, and she’ll live in the first crow’s nest
keep it clean with a little hand-made broom, have meals waiting for the bird
when he comes back from his adventures, perhaps fall in love
high up in the trees.
The Pond
If you put your fingers in the water, you can feel
the slick scales of ghosts from all of the fish
dumped in here over the years, carnival prizes
that were too much to care for
set free by well-meaning children.
There are so many turtles in this pond
they come here for the fish.
If you put your ear to the ground, you can hear the movement of tiny worms
also brought here by the children who were dropping off the fish
some parasitic creature that disengaged from the fish before they were dead
or after they were eaten by the turtles living in this pond.
Don’t put your ear too close to the ground
or they’ll find a way in.
Sometimes, late at night, you can hear the fish moving through the still water
tiny tails slapping against the surface as they struggle to breathe
in a pond clogged with algae. The lack of oxygen in the water doesn’t bother the turtles
because they already come up to the surface for air.
Because of that, there are no turtle ghosts in this pond.
All of the ghosts belong to fish.
-- Holly Day’s writing has recently appeared in Analog SF, Cardinal Sins, and New Plains Review, and her published books include Music Theory for Dummies and Music Composition for Dummies. She currently teaches classes at The Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, Hugo House in Washington, and The Muse Writers Center in Virginia.