Birds & Lashings

wouldn’t the birds flee

if the end were near?

or do their songs

herald demise?

Bahamian birds

where are you this morning?

all the places you hid —

branches, gutters

shadows of walls

spun to smithereens

by a dawdling storm

fill the bathtub

carry up your boots

& all the garden tools

move the seeds to a dry bottle

lash trashbarrels

to garage uprights

daft measures to avert

what will come regardless

all you’re trying to save

you didn’t own a year ago

from Fascicle Nine

by Emily Dickinson

An awful Tempest mashed the air —

The clouds were gaunt, and few —

A Black — as of a spectre’s cloak

Hid Heaven and Earth from view —

The creatures chuckled on the Roofs —

And whirled in the air —

And shook their fists —

And gnashed their teeth —

And swung their frenzied hair —

The morning lit — the Birds arose —

The Monster’s faded eyes

Turned slowly to his native coast —

And peace — was Paradise!