| Poetry |
Buzzard Sky
Pa watched the sky burn
black with buzzards
crossing the Roanoke
to the slaughter house
on McGaskey Road.
They stitched the seams
of the sky together,
coming in droves
to feed on carcasses
behind the packing house.
With crops full,
they headed north
back to nestlings
high in Tuscarora hardwoods.
by Marty Silverthorne
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