Poetry by Lucy M. Logsdon

The Winter of the Duck

The three ducks left call.
They won't alone. Then two. 
Then only the male who diligently
watches the iced corpse of his beloved.
For three days, I try sticks, rocks, calling,
on sheer ice.  Nothing.
I’ve failed.  A blizzard eats
the pond, my heart: there he is—
cowered under his pen.
Put me back.  For six days, he won’t
move, for five he won’t eat.
On the sixth, he pecks, then scarfs his corn;
Oh the black round his golden pupil:
how we wounded long for spring.


Lucy M. Logsdon’s publications include Heron Tree, Drafthorse Literary Journal, Poet Lore, Nimrod, The Southern Poetry Review, Iodine Poetry Review, Literary Orphans, Sixfold, Gingerbread House Literary Magazine, Right Hand Pointing, Rust & Moth, Rose Red Review, Indian Summer Quarterly, Conclave: A Journal of Character, The Miscreant Magazine, Cross Poetry Review, The Poetry Storehouse, VerseWrights, California Quarterly, and Seventeen magazine. She has received a MacDowell Writing Colony fellowship and taught at The Frost Place, Univ. of Houston, Houston Community College, and other places. She received her MFA from Columbia University, and served as the Program Director at the National Book Awards in the past.  Currently, she teaches in southern Illinois.  In her spare time, she raises chickens and ducks with her husband, and cares for various other aging critters.

Kristi DiLalloComment