Blackbirds

There were several of us together
standing on the street corner waiting
yes, several, seven at least
and all red-winged blackbirds

All marked from birth with the blood
but still young and feather proud.

And, at that time, we still believed
that there would be a Friday afternoon
followed soon by Sunday.

Sure we’d heard the reports
we’d seen the clouds in the sky
but at that moment, can you understand?

Before the machines thundered in the distance
when distance was still green fields
we whispered and laughed softly.

(Time, like a heavy vault,
now separates us from ourselves.)

~ Melodie Corrigall

Originally published in: West Coast Review

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