Literature · poetry · Uncategorized

Wounded Birds

16 years ago, on my first anniversary of incarceration, I walked into a rectangular concrete yard with high walls. The yard was empty except for a pigeon with a broken wing who was in a state of absolute panic.  It was stuck in a frantic cycle of bursting upwards into flight, then crashing into the wall, then falling to the ground, and then trying again… and again… and again.

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