Wingless
Charlotte Hamrick
After the storm we waited
for the return of the birds.
The air around the house
was silent
and devoid of flutterings,
a vacuum of tweets and
whistles. What straggling
flowers were left went
hummingbirdless while
twigs and string were
just
twigs and string
with no hope of sheltering
featherless offspring.
It was strangely quiet,
as though they were all
sucked into a void
somewhere and became
dinosaurs again in
another dimension.
They were a wondrous
memory for a time until
slowly winging their way
back home.