Leland Quarterly | Winter 2021
This One Ends with a Paperweight
Elizabeth Grant A goldfinch caught in the light sits on the faucet in my kitchen, displaced: there are splinters in the yard where his birdhouse used to be. A door behind me opens. My son in the hallway holds a paperweight. His face turns fiendish, his arm cocks — The bird opens like a music box, revealing the shades of his insides.
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