The Blue Bird Sings a Yellow Trill Before Sundown

by Keith Hoerner

In that said-same second between life and death, a child is born to a woman—not quite ready. Ribbons are awarded to winners of the McCarthy County Spelling Bee. A bottle of bubbly is popped in Paris, while a man is sentenced to prison in Colorado (though innocent of his crime). The world contemplates, realigns its incongruities in a misaligned universe, tentatively raises the shade on morning and blows out the candle signaling night. The moon swings low. The moment between life and death is an unending continuum, one unable to decipher laughterfromtears—and as in this passage—poetryfromprose.


Keith Hoerner lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois. He is an advocate of time well spent.