angie harrison

City of Birds

Rain on the roofs, on the pavement and fences,
dripping through pipes and gurgling in gutters,
pinging off sodium lights and transformers
while wind plays through the skein of power lines—
the sound enters the hushed houses like the flutter

of many wings. Out in the alley there are robins
in the rioting rosebush, and the pigeons have calmed
their skittery hearts, burbling in time with the storm drains;
the silverwet sky cups in its hand the shapes
of hundreds of gulls. The blackbird in the blooming linden
calls in a low voice, the notes, spare and strange,
washing the cars and concrete clean.

Angie Harrison works as a scholarship administrator in Baltimore when she’s not writing. She graduated from Washington College, where her poetry was awarded the Sophie Kerr Prize.