Issue Thirty-Eight - Summer 2021

Dry Cabin

By Cody Kucker

Between spokes of a spring-borne bicycle,
the redpolls peck at snow,
foraging through clumped leaf chaff for seeds.

The bicycle’s purple,
a pedal permafrosted, its tires flat.

The man who lived here before me,

Michael, needed running water
for his daughter who had just turned fourteen,
sharing a loft with daddy no longer

plausible, though he didn’t seem bothered
when telling me, but he told me.

The bicycle was beneath the snow then.

There is something about a bicycle
abandoned, the liberated but still
wheels, a pedal exactly stopped, the rust

eating the chain and rims, the handle bars,
flaking off and mixing with the minced leaves

the redpolls take into their beaks.

Copyright 2021 Kucker