ANOTHER SKY

I let the rain touch me last night.
It felt like burying my father.
The rain that fell like rusty keys.
It felt like burying my father,
the rain last night I let touch me.
The rain that fell like dead mosquitoes
was the rain that I, last night, let touch me–
which felt like burying my father.

The rain that fell like heaven-grease.

—

Originally published in God Is the Nibbling / Sea.

—

Christopher Trillsworth is a PhD candidate in Global
and Comparative Studies at Duke. His research concerns
depictions of parrots, ostriches, blue jays, and other
omnivorous bird species throughout the history of Western
art. His poems have appeared in CLASS ACT Quarterly, Salt
Hill, the Bucharest Review, and elsewhere. He lives with—
shockingly—two cockatoos. You can find him when he sleeps.