Bone, Beak, and Apples
by Iain Higgins
Frost again, gripping the limp grass,
Bright on green, gone in the sunsmeared
Dawn a bit later with each day.
Winter wheat raising its slight blades,
Clover too seeking the sloped light.
Shovels hung, rakes and the hayforks
Done for slow months, while in stark trees,
Deep in lost corners, in seed trays,
Flickers, wrens, chickadees, bushtits
Rustle buds, grubs, and the plump gifts
Given now, given against need.
Death will take, scrape its cold gains,
Leave its share: rigored skint forms,
Bone and beak, elements, cat-kill,
Apples still hanging despite all
Wind can do, whistling in sharp tune,
Fall.
Iain Higgins's poems have appeared in Antigonish Review, Books in
Canada, Canadian Forum, Canadian Literature, The
Fiddlehead, Malahat Review, and Prism International. His translations of contemporary Polish poetry have been published in numerous magazines in Canada, the UK, Ireland, and the United States, including
Descant, London Magazine, Metre, and Chicago
Review. His translation of Adam Czerniawski's Selected Poems appeared in 2000.
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