At the Repast

By TJ Jarrett TJ Jarrett
When we gathered at the house, while the men all looked at their shoes and the women whispered, baby, baby, baby, she sat down with a fist full of paper napkins and folded them into birds. When she filled her hands, she crossed the room to the hearth and threw a bird into the flames, then another, then another until she had destroyed all she created. Years later when I asked her what she meant, she couldn’t remember. The worst has already happened, she said. What good is metaphor to us now?

Source: Poetry (June 2014).


This poem originally appeared in the June 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

June 2014
 TJ  Jarrett


TJ Jarrett’s debut collection, Ain’t No Grave (2013), was published by New Issues Press. Her second collection, Zion, will be published by Southern Illinois University Press this fall.

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Living, Sorrow & Grieving, Love, Heartache & Loss

Poetic Terms Prose Poem

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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