by Kate Garrett

One feather is a joy to burn

plucked from the cemetery border

as the crow flies
the call
(‘cras! cras!’)
echoing from beaks

splitting air

like firewood
more plumage drifts

to the ground

like gifts, drops of ink
tonight she offers

a single full-moon feather
thumbs her nose

at Lovecraft and Poe

while the stars

are pushpins
prickling through sparks

and ash

and smoke.

Kate Garrett writes poetry and flash fiction (most recently or forthcoming in The Copperfield Review, Up the Staircase Quarterly, Clear Poetry, Your One Phone Call). She also edits other people’s poetry and flash fiction: she founded her own webzine and small press, the folklore-fairytales-and-mythology themed Three drops from a cauldron, and as a senior editor for Pankhearst, she edits the Slim Volume themed anthologies and the Fresh blog feature for emerging poets. She lives in Sheffield, England with a folkmusicianpoet, a cat named Mimi, and three too-clever trolls who call her “mum”. Find her online at http://www.kategarrettwrites.co.uk.