Grackles
Pecking at the lawn.
Pulling out terrified worms

Grass
Still wet from spring
Showers. Bright emerald green

Green
Sunlight hitting the blades
Just right. Backyard lushness

Grief
Already grieving for the
End of summer. Why?

Last night I dreamed of roughened hands,
And pristine walls with spackled sand,
And feeling less,
But wanting more,
Of windows open,
And a creaking door.

Last night I dreamed of voices mild,
And smiling faces, and laughter loud,
I dreamed of grackles in parkling lots,
Of finding familiar and imagining what.

I dreamed of witchcraft and of lore,
And linen hidden in a dresser drawer.

I dreamed of you,
I dreamed of you,
And all the things I'd like to do.

birthed into a golden birdcage
safe behind upstanding spindles
endless nectars and suet at your beckon
knowing only the showcase of your plumage
and the sound of your tunes

layers remain
between you and the grackles
painted a nuisance
yet they stay unshackled
only poisoned and disregarded.

still they know the freedoms
not found atop
swings and perches
dig deeper
until you find what lurches.

the gate can be opened
when you realize yourself
to be the gatekeeper
yielding what's mine
using wings of more than feathers
making up for lost time.

looking back at the captivity
you couldn't see from inside.
entering a new world
with the grackle as my guide.

This unnatural light
like the last summer
before the last winter
sends the grackles
into the cedars
rattling their wings
in the evergreens
making a sound like Ishmael
casting his bones
on the deck of Ahab's ship.