Two Poems from The Spring of Plagues

ANA CAROLINA ASSIS 
a dead bird is not war // and that is why you cannot / hang it like an / ox / or shelter flesh / in shells // a dead bird is not war, i told you / and your feet groaned up the staircase / so many maggots already / gnawing its tiny body // yes, the sooty aigrette / about its tiny eyes / black