Thursday, 12 July 2018

A poem by Chella Courington

The Pond Heron


The dead don't write
but my cousin's letter arrives three days

after he's blown away by some kid
in his own platoon.

Maybe another Georgia boy
who's never been so far from home

so scared he shoots at anything
moving in shadows.

The letter feels light
for my cousin's voice.

He speaks of sheer petals rising
out of muddy fields

spreading before the sun.
Of a copper heron in shallow water

who dips his black-tipped beak
to spear his prey.








Chella Courington is a writer and teacher. With a Ph.D. in American and British Literature and an MFA in Poetry, she is the author of six poetry and three flash fiction chapbooks. Her poetry appears in numerous anthologies and journals including Non-Binary Review, Gargoyle, Pirene's Fountain, and The Los Angeles Review. Originally from the Appalachian South, Courington lives in California with another writer and two cats.

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