First Snow
A snow-bright morning. Crows, ducks, kingfishers. Glowing spots on the
mountains where the sun shines through brilliant clouds. All this on a
day that our leaders discuss whether or not we, Americans, will give
ourselves permission to torture. Whether we will step even further
from the international community.
These ducks passed over the guns of hunters. Now they settle together
on this river in the center of the city. They will be fed through the
winter by the river and human children bringing bread and popcorn. The
crows circle and argue for the leftovers. Bird feeders, put away from
bears in the summer, reappear for all the backyard birds.
As our president flies back from a South American summit, his plane
crosses the paths of migrating flocks going south. Our soldiers come
home in pieces. They leave behind them enemies and friends; the guilty
and the innocent dead.
Around the world, birds are slaughtered and tested for plague. Birds
acknowledge no boundaries, not those of nations or geography. Plague
ignores even the boundaries of species. All are at risk -- our wild
birds, our domesticated pets, and our cruel and untamed selves.
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And some of you might get a kick out of this:
http://www.sbpoet.com/2005/11/blocked.html
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~ SB =^..^=
http://www.sbpoet.com
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