Liam Crestwood

Liam Crestwood is a writer from Northern Utah living along the Wasatch Front. His work has previously been seen in Slamchop.

Burnt Bird 

The lake locked island ablaze

the night before, now pushing

ashes along the lake’s waves.

The rivers leading out turn black

with soot, twigs, and wildlife.


A bird, blended with burnt branches,

barely alive floats by.

The only color left, the only way

to see her, is her pale blue eye.

An unblinking dot in the dark.


There’s no wings left,

feathers swallowed in flames,

leaving long black fingers

reaching for help. Want to


hold her, to heal her, but

just brushing her blackened body

would crumble everything to ash.

Her siblings soar overhead,


lucky to escape her fate,

lucky enough to have plumage

to spare (though they won’t,)

lucky to live.


Drowning could sound like a dream.

Instead she floats, her featherless

attempts to fly push her downstream.


-Featured in Issue #1 of the Rosette. 

Night Frost 

Autumn’s evening frost covers the lawn,

hidden like glass shards from a busted

camera lens which otherwise captured,

immortalized the moment. Each speck

an uncertain omen of snow to come soon.


Not tonight, skies clear of accumulating clouds.

Porch lights polluting sight creates a starless scene


leaving satellites as heaven’s sole celestial bodies

passing across from one horizon to another.


A day will come when debris will build a shield,

each satellite stopping each other’s path, and

heaven’s shifting view becomes metal


bumping back and forth. Will anyone in the city

notice none of the stars’ lights make it to earth?


Frost still sparkles—stealing from the porch lights,

a private galaxy waiting to be mowed and weeded


When the last star fades from earth’s sight

those innumerable lights will still shine on,

resurrected in-between grass blades


forming new found constellations created

through myths not yet manufactured.


Each sparkle a piece of what once was above,

before satellites blocked us into our world

serving past the people who built them.