"Moon Song" • Phoebe Bridgers (by Ashley Kirkland)

No surprises here: The blue jay dies. We pulled into the garage and found him in the backyard, thought he was sick—unmoving at the corner of the driveway and the grass. I took a photo and was surprised by the patterns on his wings, the feathers peppered with blue-black dashes as if they were painted on. My younger son clambered out of his carseat and climbed to the window. So cute, he said, as if he were talking about a baby or something, well, cute. The bird’s eyes looked mangled, as if he’d been attacked by another bird. Later, the bird lady would tell me she saw it years before when we had cicadas, that she wasn’t sure, but it could be a Vitamin A deficiency. I would nod like I understood even though I knew nothing about birds. I searched my phone, desperately looking for somewhere to take the bird. I made phone calls and texted strangers while I made the spaghetti. After we ate, we ushered him into a little shoebox, taped the lid shut so he didn’t escape while I drove him to the bird lady. When I texted her to check on him the next day she said, Blue Jay sadly passed in the night. Even through text her voice was soft. I had the urge to hug her and hoped the bird hadn’t been alone. I cried & went to bed upset. It wasn’t about the bird, I told my husband. Now I have to tell the boys.

Ashley Kirkland writes in Ohio where she lives with her husband and sons. Her work can be found in Cordella Press, Boats Against the Current, The Citron Review, Naugatuck River Review, ONE ART, HAD, Major7thMagazine, among others. Her chapbook, BRUISED MOTHER, is available from Boats Against the Current. She is a poetry editor for 3Elements Literary Review. You can find her at lashleykirklandwriter on Instagram.