Adam Lawrence

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A loud knock on the bay window
brought us out to the living room.
A vague smear where something
had made violent contact.

We ran out to the backyard.
A speckled bird on its back,
stunned. Twitching the last
of its life for having mistaken

glass for reality. I petted
his grey/orange head. Just one
final flicker, then he was gone.
Afterward, we cut out bird

shapes and plastered them
on the bay window. We heard
that would prevent
humans from gazing too long
at their own reflections.


Adam Lawrence’s poetry has recently appeared in Train: A Poetry Journal, SurVision Magazine, and Carousel Magazine. In his spare time, Lawrence dabbles in small press projects. He works as a freelance editor and writer in Florenceville-Bristol, NB, the French Fry Capital of the World.