I have lived in Phoenix since 1978 when I moved from Vienna, Austria. Born in Austria, I grew up in Manchester, close to rain and the northern English industrial zone. In my early 20s I went to live in Vienna and from there enjoyed many trips around Europe, often as an artist working in watercolor. My poems have appeared in Slipstream, Skidrow Penthouse, and Poem, among others, and my Selected Poems appeared in 2014 from FutureCycle Press. http://www.davidchorlton.mysite.com
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​Migration


Last night the Monarchs flew
through our television set
on their way to Mexico.
There was a dry rustling
of wings against the air
and little shreds of cloud
drifted out from the screen
as they crossed the Sierra Madre.
People in bright costumes gathered
outside and looked through the window
expecting them to land
so we asked them to come in
and wait with us. Together
we watched as the Monarchs streamed
into the room and settled
on the furniture. Chairs were trembling.
Orange swirled around us
while our guests began to sing
and played an accordion.
We were happy in two languages
then snow began to fall
from the ceiling, and some
of the Monarchs died. They fell
around our feet and we all
began picking them up, trying to warm
life back into them, blowing
warm breath onto the wings,
but the frost had its way
and only a few survived. We opened
the window to let them out. Most
of those remaining went
off into the night, over the rooftops
and away toward Mexico. Just one
stayed behind. We tried to guide it
toward the window but it would not leave,
coming instead to rest
on the painting of a forest
that hangs behind the table, the one
so true to life we sometimes hear
a tree scream as it falls.