Bio Note: Since becoming homebound, I have had much more time to simply gaze out the window. I've noticed a small, recurring flock of blackbirds circling the environs of Cedar Grove, Wisconsin. I have published three chapbooks, the most recent of which is Icarus: Anthropology of Addiction. I am also English language editor for Poetry Hall: A Chinese and English Bilingual Journal.
As if some spirited wildness of wind blackbirds wing themselves into a streamlined murmuration. Just twenty or so outside my sliding glass door. They circle as of one mind. Avian servant-leaders take turns stepping up or rather winging up when the angle of the air alights in their brains with the imperative to bank hard now. Someone in my living room is playing overlapping chords on the piano’s black keys only. This bird-flight is an ancient and at times almost forlorn ethereal song of sight. Youngsters are born into this timeless flock and others die yet still the dance goes on. A century ago the murmuration circled over women hanging out laundry and children playing games at backyard birthday parties. A millennia ago it glimpsed the earlier people treading woodland trails and building burial mounds shaped like birds. I once joined a congregation where leadership was determined by lot random and ever changing I put forth every effort and lost myself in pursuit of purpose and joy I sky-danced a whimsical we.
©2020 Sylvia Cavanaugh
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL