They carry dark and light with them,
and scatter them both,
rushing from the hedgerows,
caucusing in the thatch along gutters.
They claim safe harbor;
they are what remains.
All the word has shuttered;
curtains swing closed,
and their flight is gone.
The fine syllables in dry grass
sputter and shriek, the one future song.
Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass., USA.
Her poetry and fiction have recently appeared in The Cafe Review, Poetry Bay, The Beliveau Review, Sirens Call, Raven Cage, and more.
She is the author of five poetry books. Her short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor, is due out in fall 2020 from Emu Books. She welcomes visits to megsmithwriter.com.
Her poetry and fiction have recently appeared in The Cafe Review, Poetry Bay, The Beliveau Review, Sirens Call, Raven Cage, and more.
She is the author of five poetry books. Her short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor, is due out in fall 2020 from Emu Books. She welcomes visits to megsmithwriter.com.
Latest posts by Meg Smith (see all)
- A Guild of House Sparrows - 13th November 2020