The crow brings scissors to her hair today,
erratic sense of justice and cleansing.
She makes a feast in the kitchen:
guineafowl dripping in its fat, rolled
with string and puckering over the edges,
endives in heavy cream. She brings in
all the garden. She wrings the plums
of their juice, chest glistening with sweat.
She cuts down the mimosa,
opens the windows, swallows swooping
through the room. The night is coming down
onto her, red in the sky’s belly. She puts away
all the last anthems, tucks a stack of Leonard Cohen
into a corner, all the totems hanging too heavy
on the walls. She hums it all out, hides
new figurines on the protruding bodies
of the wall’s stones, blesses the wooden beam
holding the ceiling, drilled with holes
from carpenter bees. The air sings its newness,
budding a bulb of light between her ribs.
Zoë Fay-Stindt has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and published in both online and print magazines, including Gauge, The Ocotillo Review, JASPER Academic Journal, and Winter Tangerine. Most recently, she was selected as one of two writing mentees for the national Gemini Ink poetry mentorship with Barbara Ras. When she’s not writing her own poetry, she works for an adult college program in Austin, TX, where she facilitates and supports community writing workshops and helps others strengthen their voices.