Prosector<\/p>\n
\nThis morning, on our walk between rain squalls
\nwe circled the lake at the head of the Cayou valley.
\nThere, amidst an insistence of flickers, a burble
\nof robins, the rusty scrape of the red-wing blackbird,
\nwe happened upon a black-feathered shape, which flew up
\nat our approach, into the trees. Where it had been,
\nwhat had seemed a rumpled blanket,
\nwas a doe, no more than two days dead.
\nRibs furled around a thorax
\nempty of lungs, empty of heart, open
\nto the thin mist of rain. And the ribs themselves,
\npink and clean of meat, a lesson in anatomy taught
\nby that bald scavenger waiting above, waiting
\nto resume his lecture on our shared fate.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Prosector” previously appeared in\u00a0the\u00a0Journal of the American Medical Association.<\/em><\/p>\n Ted McMahon’s<\/a> poetry has appeared in Seattle Review, Convolvulus, Manzanita Quarterly, Rosebud,<\/em> and the Journal of the American Medical Association, <\/em>and on\u00a0The\u00a0Writer’s Almanac with Garrison Keillor. <\/a><\/em>His full-length collection is\u00a0The Uses of Imperfection,<\/a> <\/em><\/em>published in 2003.\u00a0He published a chapbook,\u00a0First Fire, <\/em><\/em>in 1996.\u00a0Ted received the 1999 Carlin Aden Award for formal verse from the Washington Poets Association, <\/a>and a 2004 Artist Trust GAP Grant. He was finalist for the Ruth Stone Prize in Poetry in 2005.\u00a0Ted was a co-editor at Floating Bridge Press <\/a>in Seattle from 1999-2006. He currently practices Pediatrics half time in the Seattle neighborhood of Ballard and devotes the other half to writing and leading\u00a0river journeys<\/a>.\u00a0 He lives in the Seattle neighborhood of Wallingford with his wife, photographer Rosanne Olson, and their two Maine Coon cats, Zoe and Maxx.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Prosector This morning, on our walk between rain squalls we circled the lake at the head of the Cayou valley. There, amidst an insistence of flickers, a burble of robins, the rusty scrape of the red-wing blackbird, we happened … Continue reading