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IthacaLit   Literary Magazine: Lit with Art © 2011

All individual works copyrighted by their authors. All rights reserved.

First Credit IthacaLit. ISSN: 2372-4404

James THOMPSON, Spring 2019

Feathers Insulate My Home


My mother would pin flattened birds

  to the drywall of our home.

    Birds found against the city curbs amid

dry leaves and plastic wrappers.

  My mother liked to keep dead things

    alive as long as she could.

Careful never to name them in front of me,

  she’d arrange the birds above her

    sewing machine, heads up and in a row.


The only part of Cinderella I remember

  word for word is –Cinderella, hard up

    on time and resources, collected all

the dead birds beneath the sills of her

  spotless windows, and, using the tine

    of a fork and her own hair, sewed

herself a gown of feathers. When it came

  time for the ball, she took flight

    and never touched earth ever again.

James Allen Thomson currently lives in Central Texas where he is an English lecturer at Texas State University. His poetry has appeared in Poached Hare and Twyckenham Notes and is forthcoming in fields magazine.