She Had Some Birds

She had some birds. She had birds who were pouches of swallowed pebbles. She had birds who were comets, burst-light feathers. She had birds who were dust-blown across a trail. She had birds who were slick sap on bark. She had birds who were siltstone, sandstone. She had birds who were calcium, prone to crumble. She had birds who were nodding green grasses, supple.

She had some birds.

She had birds with eyes of creamy, impending storms. She had birds who swarmed the landscape with middle C wings. She had birds that looked away toward the darkness too often. She had birds that were too late for the worm. She had birds that kicked pollen across puddles.

She had some birds.

She had birds who nestled in twine and rubble. She had birds who thought they were the sky, their bodies dissipated, formed, struck, lightning-bolt. She had birds who grazed lightly on scattered stars. She had birds who were much too self-aware, preening at fields of feathered wheat.

She had some birds.

She had birds who liked what went around, then came around. She had birds who wore their hearts upon their sleeves. She had birds who sang work songs while banging their beaks on ironwood. She had birds who said I am singing. She had birds who stole. She had birds who gave and gave, regurgitating Earth and bile, beak-to-mouth.

She had some birds.

She had birds who called themselves, bird. She had birds who called themselves, warning and peered into bright windows at night, obscured. She had birds who had no song. She had birds who had books of songs.

She had some birds.

She had birds who mourned and cooed in cemeteries. She had birds who belted at the sun, puncturing it with their beaks. She had birds who stood by for the rot. She had birds who stabbed, taloned, and plucked.

She had some birds.

She had birds who bowed to the sky, perched on power lines. She had birds whose family had been shot for spectacle. She had birds who nested in her hair, gifted her feathers not knowing whether they should murmurate or murder.

She had some birds.

She had some birds whose eggs she held up to the light. She had some birds whose eggs she’d cracked in spite.

These were the same birds.