Friday, March 2, 2012

This Storm: Bird Worries

It's silly,
the girl said.
Where do the birds go when it storms?
Are they swept away?


The old woman shook her head.
In the mountains, the
bluebirds
fly to the nearest knot at
the elbow of the
oak.


The hawks climb skyward
in defiance.


The slender heron hunches.


The old one squinted at the darkening sky.
But in Mississippi
that nuded day afterwards,
the hummingbird was desperate and sought frantically
to drink the red from the jeep's
dead tail-light.


No nourishment,
no shelter.
The cries of all creatures that long, silent day.

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