White Skulls


by kerry rawlinson

elephant skull.jpg
Photo by kerry rawlinson. Used with permission.


a thousand quail-chicks flurry
around my ankles like water.
I am awash in birdmeat, bodies at
my feet

chirp in pigeon-pidgin,
picking at threads of comprehension
through my fracturing bones
of speech.

Their fluffing smothers our comfort
with weary dread. Only you
can carry us, they cry, but we’re dead

They peck out our unseeing eyes,
they shit in red bowls of thirsty hearts,
pick our skulls clean with beaks
of blue.

They bear our white skulls to the beasts,
carry them back to before.
Before slaughter mattered more than

Our smiles are fixed wide in the moonlight,
understanding why we grin.
White skulls make fine incubators for



Decades ago, autodidact & optimist kerry rawlinson gravitated from sunny Zambian skies to solid Canadian soil. Fast-forward: she follows Literature & Art’s Muses around the Okanagan, barefoot. She’s won contests (e.g. GeistPostcards, Poems & ProseFusion Art;) and features lately in Pedestal, ReflexFictionpioneertownCentrifugal EyeMinola ReviewCanadianLiteratureAdHoc Ficion; Adirondack Reviewamongst others. Visit: kerryrawlinson.tumblr.com

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