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In case you have a bone to pick with nature

—Cailey Tin

In case you have a bone to pick with nature

When the tower exploded / into a million pieces like human     bones, it fell / in the song 

of autumn,     all beat and rhythm. / Its height didn’t object.      Its skeleton collapsed 

beside litterfall, and steel      lay / as steel with dead animal          hair. Everything is still 

wide open. I walk past decay and think nature is too broad to exist / between my feet, 

caressed by your manicured fingers, then these needy   twigs.  But towers will be sticking 

up       before you know it / elongating / since everything is a  competition / now and 

nature wants people of sky to be     looked up on.            People who make beast-like

mane with leaves and not get cold                feet from their own reflections. Somebody has 

to misuse their voice / for the roar               to be as usual as rooster fights, prey gnashing

             prey, and predator     building off /  of their own rivalry. I can’t hide / behind nature, 

aware of how it benefits       you, how merely your fingernails can tear             deeper than a 

lion’s teeth because if not    yours, who else’s would / somebody has to go /  through the 

life before everyone decides winning is worth     fighting                        for.


CAILEY TIN hails from the Philippines, writing or editing for magazines including the Incandescent Review, Trailblazer Review, Paper Crane, and Incognito Press. Her poetry and other shenanigans are published or forthcoming in Eunoia Review, Raven Review, Fairfield Scribes, Ice Lolly, and elsewhere. When not writing, she is either engrossed in global history, playing the piano, or daydreaming.

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