By Sarah Parris
I discovered a chickadee egg in the grill today. I’d meant to lay it in the hedgerow, nestle it among the leaf litter, but as I passed my cat’s small winter grave, some ancient magic pulled me aside, bent my knee. I set the egg at the center, among the violets, above her heart. An offering. A prayer for rebirth.
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Sarah Parris is a professor of English and creative writing in Missouri where she lives with her wife and three cats. Her work has appeared in Blood Tree Literature, Midwest Weird, Oracle Fine Arts Review, Progenitor Art & Literary Journal, and others.