Jen Finstrom


The bird I saw this morning
doesn’t belong here in Chicago,
is out of place with its long,
flattish beak, body the size
of a small Nerf football, confused
flutter across Jackson and State,
and I want to hurry past it
but stop to say, “Bird, I don’t
know what you are, and if I
never look you up in my bird
book, I will never know how
far you are from home.”

Jennifer Finstrom teaches composition and tutors in writing at DePaul University, is the poetry editor of Eclectica Magazine, and has work appearing in NEAT, Midwestern Gothic, and RHINO, among others.