Submissions

Hope Spuck

The Birds

This day, October 5th, started with a chilly morning. We sit on the Sunny 106 rafters watching the city of DuBois, desolate. I hope that I’ll find a warm bread crumb. After yesterday, I’ll need some time in the nest. Hopefully she and I will be together.

My lover is a winged beauty, together I long to be. For without her, my heart is chilly. We may lay slouched in the nest, Which is tucked away in the rafters Of the pungent yellow sign. In hopes of a crumb, We search the city. Our stomachs feeling desolate.

Finally our stomachs no longer, desolate. For we found our source together And worked through the tough times for a crumb. With winter approaching, it has been chilly These past few nights in the rafters. But tonight we sleep content in the nest.

Our children were born in this nest. They grow and learn leaving us desolate. Singing no longer comes from our rafters. We try to stay in contact, but it’s only us two together. It’s lonely without them, chilly. They leave no hint of themselves, not even a crumb.

Another year passes, and we see many crumbs. We rebuild again, new spot, new nest. This one will be slightly less chilly In a more remote spot, desolate. We sing in unison, all together. This dusty barn again has noisy rafters.

The place where I was born, rafters Of an old townhouse in Virginia. The crumbs Were never low. And everywhere we went, we went together. Lonely never described this nest. Never was it a desolate place. Maybe, chilly.

These rafters tell a story of the nests within them. The crumbs of life show that no matter how desolate, how chilly it may seem, we will always be together.