I carry many deaths

inside me though

not as a cat is said to


or a saint bristling

with arrows.

Not as an oak

in winter flies

its few brown flags

of surrender.


Not the way the womb

sheds its lush red lining.

Not the way a virus storms


the cockpit of a cell

but the way a man

feeding pigeons in the park


watches as they wander

off when his pockets

are empty.


– Art Nahill

Art is a general physician at Auckland Hospital who emigrated to NZ  from the U.S. ten years ago with his kiwi wife and two boys and now enjoys rugby, cricket, and watching American politics from afar.