The Grackles are Mating in Texas
by Carol Hamilton

The colored ribbons of their voices,
tossed up to air and arched
back by gravity
the fanned tails
splays of ebony
and squabbling male squawks
the strutting about over the stubbled
grass of the park-to-be-built

these enliven the miles of roofs
all at the same pitch
all of the same gray shingle
above houses all of
the same mottled brick
lined up like
the numbers
in the good accountant’s ledger.

We were all encoded long ago.
We dance each spring
just as we should
stepping out our rituals
to a drumbeat more distant
than I will ever hear.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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