r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

 short poetry  short fiction   short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Larry D. Thomas

Blackbirds

o


A morning, Sunday at that,
in late January and a tree,
a Chinese tallow, leafless,
vulnerable.  As if from nowhere,
from the bowels of darkening clouds,
they descend by the hundreds,
turning the tree into nothing
but a blue-black cacophony
of terror, a choir of wildest eyes
darting this way and that,
desperate for something, anything,
to scavenge, tightening its grip
on the twigs of a fall from Eden.

 

 

o

 


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