Bird
Fists clench so tightly the knuckles turn to white
he stared and his eyes felt like an attack.
Jaw clenched tightly, back rigid, skin flushed red
he turned away from me. He turned away.
"Get Out." Growled out between thin lips. "Get Out."
Get out to where? Where could I go? I had
nothing, no money just the clothes I wore.
The slamming of his fist into the wall,
the shaking of the window, the echo
of the impact. "Get Out." I got out fast.
Alone I walked along the run down street
of my home. Or it was my home. Not now.
Where was I supposed to go now? Birds chirped
It was still early, still morning and that
didn't feel right. It should be dark, it should
be gloomy. The sun shouldn't be shining.
Shoving hands into pockets and keeping
my head down, hoping no one would notice
me, or my tears. I had nowhere to go.
Dragging feet I moved toward nowhere slowly.
The crows circled me as I walked, cawing
and waiting for me to just give up so
they could have their fill of me. Scavengers
turned to patient hunters. Did I reek of
death? My soul felt dead, but my body moved on.
I stared with bitterness at my new flock.
They bobbed and weaved among the phone wires, moved
from fence post to fence post, with little care as
I slowly made my way away from there
They would have to wait, I was not dead yet.
