Melpomene

something startled her, the flock of birds
stirred, an incorporeal black blur
aloft. quivering, panicked and
waiting to return to the telephone wires where,
soft, electric and humming, the voices
raced beneath her bare feet.

the car tires in traffic hiss against the asphalt
as they pass beneath, the storefront signs flash neon,
a truck's exhaust rises thick grey,
ghostlike.

she is hundreds of eyes,
wings and beaks. her coming and going
is one thousand feathers fighting
for air, she can't breathe,
she tries, flies, sees nothing to fear,
hundreds of feet alighting
on the wires at once,
hundreds of heartbeats slowing.

the hawks are creeping closer, she knows.
they stalk her every move, they talk
about her in hushed, taloned tones,
snatching pieces of her away,
feather by feather, fading,
a host of wearied wings fluttering.

she's learned to look for raptors at every roost.
she's too frightened to sing anymore.
she's so scared she'll have to fly forever.

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