On The Back Doorstep Poem by Jared Carter

In this, the last decade of the twentieth century, plants and animals are now experiencing from 1,000 to 10,000 times the normal rate of extinction. - Biodiversity specialist, Harvard University

The right talon broken, two claws extended, two bent back,
the left still clenched, but holding to nothing now.

Each dark claw knotted and bunched, like twisted wire,
each narrowing to an unretractable sliver of nail;

The slash of charcoal pinfeathers across the throat,
scatter of dalmation spots along the barrel chest;

The left wing, when extended, perfectly elastic and yielding,
the quills bright orange, the vanes dull gold

out toward the tips, then yellow and gray intermingled,
finally a creamy fluff, up close to the joint

with the body; the wing itself still supple, interlocking,
so that it is easy to imagine the movement, the ease

of expansion and contraction, the flickering of shadow
among the magnolia branches. Turn it over, study

the broad back, the bold stripes - alternating pattern
of black and gray - on the folded wings; the crest

on top of the head, red as new paint, the bill tapered
to a flat point, like a nail-set. The eyes gone.


From After the Rain.