The Wire | Of Flesh and Fur by Duncan Barlow
A quote from Duncan Barlow's chapbook, Of Flesh and Fur (The Cupboard Pamphlet, 2016).
"That night I sat under the stars. One fell. Crashed somewhere in the bluff on the far side of the river. There was maybe a hiss. The coyotes on the timberline ridge called. That lonesome croon that weaves itself between the trees and travels along the river valley to make bed in our ears.
"The night had become a little darker. I thought of my ex-wife's last word. I thought of her new husband. Of their photos online. It'd be the bigger thing to find happiness in the fact that she found a man to give her want she wanted. Instead, I wanted him to come to some unexpected end. A fire. A gunshot. A comet coming loose from the sky and parsing him. I looked to the patio table I had built for my ex-wife on her birthday. I remembered buying the wood. Unpacking the new saw from the box. Searching online for a guide to applying epoxy. It leaned in the moonlight. A ripple of uneven shell catching the light in jagged waves. Nothing like the well-balanced wedding bed my ex-wife's second husband made her from the forest on the ridge beyond the river."
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