Writing on the Wild Side - "The Anthology"

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Aryls on Martin Luther King Jr. Day - Jen Acacia Mittelstadt

My parents took his body to the top of the hill.

The cold February cadaver,

there were no trees to lay under, only snow.

 

Now all his bones are gone. 

All his fur is in the ground.

His eyes are no longer closed,

the flesh around them has been pecked,

has flown away.