In the Blue Hue of Morning – Jason D. Ramsey

For C.

Dead birds canvas brushwood
in the clearing. You point &
name them as we pass –
flycatcher, nightjar, wren – flat-
voiced, as if reading to a crowd.
You’re eleven. I can’t tell you
how they died, can’t dispel your
stolid eyes or your wish to join
them in silence. We cast lines in
a nearby rill. You pull at brook
trout – swayback, violent – like
last night, when mountain
sunsets raged & your neck
bloomed a chorus of indigo
veins. I tousle your hair. You
examine the carrion at your feet
– clipped feathers, cracked
beaks. Rain beats the rill to
plaster. You’re five years
younger than I was when I bent
your grandpa’s Lincoln around
a tree – as close as I’ve been to
my own release – after I jerked
the wheel & heard a shotgun
echo in the blue hue of morning.
Jason D. Ramsey

Jason D. Ramsey resides halfway between Detroit and Chicago, and serves as the editor-in-chief of Barren Magazine and Barren Press. His poetry and essays can be found in various places, including After the Pause, Dark Marrow, The Bees Are Dead, Patheos, and more. Find him on social media @JasonDRamsey.

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