Return

Return

Facebook
Twitter
Email
Flipboard
Pocket

January robin, I want
you to live more
than I want you to stay
and I want you to stay more
than I want to live.

Stipple your frost-fitted feet

on the crunchsqueak of the cornsnow
lit up with its own freezing.

Your chest like morning-mouth blood
on the pillow for reasons

I’d rather not know.

Cold-cramped wing fly you
to Iowa for half-safety for these climes
will climb to your beak.

And all we hear from is heat
and melt.

Let that rumor your feather,
              fling you far.

Thank you for reading The Nation!

We hope you enjoyed the story you just read, just one of the many incisive, deeply reported articles we publish daily. Now more than ever, we need fearless journalism that moves the needle on important issues, uncovers malfeasance and corruption, and uplifts voices and perspectives that often go unheard in mainstream media.

Donate right now and help us hold the powerful accountable, shine a light on issues that would otherwise be swept under the rug, and build a more just and equitable future.

For nearly 160 years, The Nation has stood for truth, justice, and moral clarity. As a reader-supported publication, we are not beholden to the whims of advertisers or a corporate owner. But it does take financial resources to report on stories that may take weeks or months to investigate, thoroughly edit and fact-check articles, and get our stories to readers like you.

Donate today and stand with us for a better future. Thank you for being a supporter of independent journalism.

Thank you for your generosity.

Ad Policy
x