james brush
Winter Solstice
Grackles poke around the right-of-way,
a confusion of iridescent-robed seekers,
an endless search for grass seeds.
The junkie at the intersection watches,
never takes his eyes off the grackles
even when I hand him some crackers
and dried bits of bread. I look in his eyes,
nobody’s home, and we both understand
the grackles’ bright yellow eyes are more alive,
more aware of the gray curtain coming
down fast from the north. He stretches his arms
ready to ride that icy tailwind south, but the
light changes to green—too many cars now
block his path, but it’s useless anyway.
All his flight feathers fell out six years ago.
He stands in exhaust fumes, praying that
grackles share seed when snow’s coming.
…
In the Time of the Automobile
Deer run thick along our road;
they don’t even think about the cars.
Vultures fly thick above our road;
they know all about the cars and wait.
At night, they hiss from the trees, grunting
tales about all the cars that stopped in time.
The deer don’t usually remember, but
they still forget to fear the cars, so unlike
discriminating mountain lions and wolves,
forgotten now despite genetic warnings.
The vultures watch the cars approach,
watch the deer stand still or sometimes
whisper, “Run,” just a moment too late.
Though I hate to see the ruined bodies,
I don’t begrudge the vultures’ venison;
their meals must be pretty tasty to them
and besides (I admit it) I sometimes find
I’m fascinated by the morning meetings
around their roadside meals.
…
James Brush is a high school English teacher.His poems have appeared in various journals online and in print, and he keeps a full list of publications at his blog Coyote Mercury. He really does like vultures and grackles, which is lucky since he lives in central Texas.
James,
How appropriate to have a grackle poem from you in the first issue. You first introduced me to grackles and I watch them now with pleasure.
I love the vultures waiting to say run just that moment too late.
margo
Thanks, Margo! I’m glad to hear my poems have led to a new grackle fan. Btw, these are going to be included in a collection of my grackle and vulture poems that I’m planning to publish next month.
The Automobile poem sums up so much about ecology and the food chain – I love it, even while wincing at the fate of the deer.
I don’t know what a grackle is, but your poem is fascinating. In Cornwall, grockles are day trippers, but that can’t be right here!
In a sense grackles are day trippers, ViV. They are a gorgeous, large black bird [with an iridescent sheen] with plenty of personality.
margo
…ready to ride that icy tailwind south… is, in itself, worth the price of admission. Those birds, that man, that moment. Great stuff. And to follow that with another solid tale of a totally different roadkill is genius. salute!
I’m honored to share the issue with such fine work.
I, too, am honored to share some space, and never tire of your birds. Feast in a season of want, the poems, the words.
Thanks, everyone, for reading and for your kind words. I do appreciate it greatly.
I haven’t seen many grackles this year. Guess the influx of crows is behind that. Hadn’t thought it before, but junkies are, indeed, solitary birds with no flock.
Your deer/vulture/car poem has me wanting to write. I love it when that happens.