I’ve never seen a great bird of prey dead in nature. Where do their bodies hide? Do they fall out of the sky in a sudden feeling of faint flight? When they die, do they land in the trees and perch there forever? Are their wings spread wide in rigor mortis for eternity while caught in the crosswinds of tall mountains?

I’ve never seen a great bird of prey dead in nature. I’ve only ever seen their shadows and silhouettes, their living breathing eating flying bodies—never still—hands twitching.

Do they become one with the dirt? Do roots envelop their hollow bones? Do they now rest under trees they once soared over?

I won’t know till I’ve seen it for myself.

I carry your eye with me always upon my breast. An honored token, gift, possession from your mother upon your mother upon arriving at your funeral.

I suppose I am lucky that you either had it on your person or in your purse when you died, otherwise I it would have been lost in a pawn shop. The ugly bastard that ruined your life took everything from you.

When he heard that you died he pawned the rest of what he had of yours…at least what he could sell. I wonder if he pawned the owl earrings I gave you, or the winter coat that matched mine. God what did he do with all your makeup? I hope he didn’t give it to Kat. I guess maybe this necklace was in your purse, because the eye part would have melted, and the leather cord would be non-existent if you were wearing it when they cremated you. I saw the bag they gave Twiggy; everything was covered in blood and ashes. I can’t believe they were too lazy to remove your jewelry in the morgue. At least they had the decency to separate it from your ashes.

I have this wishful thinking that you are here with me, watching. Seeing the farm that I spoke of so often for your own eyes. eye.

I hope you saw the sketches I made of you as an owl harpy, sending Rob to hell after Guido Remis Archangel Michael. I know that owls were your favorite animal. I hope you are laughing at him right now.