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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3879 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Birds of a Feather Emily Brink A day before Thanksgiving, Oakland warms; the perfect sky hums like a grandmother in her living room; prim and clean and resourceful. “Don’t those flowers look like birds?” my lover asks. He calls them “Birds of a Feather”. The colors, between tangerine peach and lemonade pink, with a secret, blue sly unkept— unfolds like gospel between lush, slender apartments of leaves. I told him Jack had his birthday on the twenty-third. He said “I’ll buy him a straightjacket, he needs to give himself a hug, need to give himself lots of love”. We laughed and the blooms shook round tail feathers in the golden light, like they understood our weather, just together, human, and alive. |
