On March 1st by James Brush

On March 1st

the grackles opened
like gates in the trees
shadow birds, eyes glistening
you could almost imagine
these noisy shades
abandoning tangible birds,
parking lots and steel dumpsters
in their odyssey through
suburban woods,
clacking and creaking
like machines or clocks
ticking away the last
hoarse seconds of winter.

by James Brush, from Birds Nobody Loves.

literary journal: Gnarled Oak
twitter: @jdbrush

Editor’s note: This poem’s vivid imagery repurposes a flock that most people love hate into a delightful spectacle of lines and words.


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