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Nico Santana

A Feather Caught in a Fan

In an instant, the whole church

fills with the sound of something

dead dying once more—and

even the priest ceases to compose

heaven, just to listen to quill and

vane snap under spinning blades.

Eventually, there is no more bird

left to batter, and the priest can

laugh, continue his homily about

the song that follows death and

the ways in which we learn its

lyrics. Amen, he says; Amen,

we respond, choir-like, and

now for the next measure—

But the feather lingers in the air.

Made into dust. Made into mess of

mistunes. How easily it could

have slipped through the grille and

crumpled like a lung; how painless

it should have been to clatter

ghost-like against the metal bars.

Instead, it threw its voice to

the rushing wind and we were

witness, and we are pen put to

score, and we will be proof of

a note briefer than a single breath.

May I, too, forgo melody, if

only to be heard. May I, too,

depart with so little grace,

that I leave every head in

the congregation turned.

About the Author

Nico Santana is a Management Engineering major from the Philippines who much prefers writing and reading to anything even remotely management-related. His poetry has been published in TLDTD, as well as in several video game-centric fanzines.

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