Poem

What should we call
a gathering of grounded
birds? I don’t mean
flightless birds, or
several that fell dead
all at once. I mean
living birds choosing
not to fly for a while.
Maybe there is water
nearby. Or they’ve grown
tired from flight, although
you’d never find them
panting. You’ll agree
flock seems wrong.
Cackle? A cackle
of birds? A puddle
perhaps? You are being
asked to make
a decision, to give
something a name:
to write a poem.

In this poem
one of the birds
decides to fly
above a city,
the people crossing
the street, following
the lights and the
crosswalks below.
What to call a group
of people:
A traffic
A prayer
An applause
A celebration
A cemetery
A war
An era
A party*
A farm*
A friendship*
A murder
A ritual
A generation
A stanza
A class
A trend
A style
A production
A script
A swim
A hunt
A hideout
A race
A slaughter
A common
A purchase
A dance
A pollution
A following
A chaos
An order
A tolerance
A weapon
A threat
A scab
A murmur
A hum
A warmth
A sickness
A shiver
A language
A hunger
——–
It is so difficult
to write a poem
when you’ve given
me oranges. What
can a poem say
like peeling open
these oranges? And
the trail of peels!
You are my only
source of oranges.

*Heal.

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1 Comment

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One response to “Poem

  1. ryan luz, you are a most amazing human

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