Rain bowed I wonder if the water etched a spotted bull's-eye on the pane ­ something to lure the bullet birds to smash where blinds obscure the scrabble toeholds in the screen. The knotted cord plays on my fingers. I can pull and burst the room with light and glitter eyes, the beaks like shining corn, the frantic cries and clack of wings. Do feathers bloom the dull and piebald grass? Does blood bloom on the sill? I've envied birds, the hollow flit of bone, but not the skullthunk knocking like a stone tossed by a lover. I could make them still, could snap a neck as swiftly as a bean. Instead I wait. Clean. Unseeing. Unseen. Julie Carter

Julie Carter lives in Ohio with her husband and their strange array of cats. Her work has appeared or will appear in Mimesis, Autumn Sky, Snakeskin, OCHO, Raintown Review, and The Shit Creek Review. Pseudophakia can be purchased online here:  http://www.lulu.com/content/342481