Migrations

by Charlotte McConaghy

The animals are dying. Soon we will be alone here.

ok starting off strong i guess

Or maybe I was just hoping the bird’s final migration would show me a place to belong. Once, it was birds who gave birth to a fiercer me.

and because the cold sends me back I spend too many precious seconds wanting to be dead, just for it all to be over, right now, I can’t wait any longer, there is no part of me that isn’t finished—

After twelve years I’m somehow worse at expressing how I feel, and it shouldn’t be like this—not with the person I love best.

Mam used to tell me to look for the clues. “The clues to what?” I asked the first time. “To life. They’re hidden everywhere.”