Things the Grackles Bring
by Chen Chen
An eggy disaster. An opulently abandoned theatre. A jade box full of childhood
fears. A library book overdue & despised. A highway
beautification with a rerun of the full moon. An informercial
they would really like us to watch, in formalwear. Their aunties
who each bring just a thimble of thunder. Their grandmothers
who bring us geodes to crack: a jack, a jenny: Twins!
Reasonably priced dental plans! Fondue & dipping breads
but we’re already full. Other birds but we don’t care about them. Words
we’ve spoken to our parents that we would take back. That we wouldn’t.
The blue pen that exploded. What bees wear at night
when they want to feel sexy. The math of Halley’s Comet. A miracle
but we just couldn’t accept, no no, that’s far too much, you’re too kind, no.
Jasmine tea. Property tax. War but they see our hands
are already full of it. So. The notion that if we mourned every single person
killed just today. Learned the name & wept the name.
If we had the body. To grieve every body.
They bring it to our doorstep.