Four doors down, next to the dumpster,
lives a silver haired mother of misfits and magpies.
She diagrams patterns of birds on the wing
through scatters of millet and thistle seed
Perched at the window, she observes the sky
and watches over her shabby domain.
When someone shatters, she takes the auspices
reads the signs and translates the meaning.
Beak to lips and lips to beak.
Predictions in bird tongue unfold in her mouth.
The cacophony in her apartment is deafening,
Lovebirds, parakeets, cockatiels and canaries,
arguing over ill-omens and stray bits of stale bread
They nibble away hungrily at her timeworn effects.
Feathers of azure and jade, vermilion and gold,
She adorns herself in avian finery and living plumage
Fluttering breath of birds worn like a shivering talisman,
She enfolds us all in a dozen sets of downy wings.
Heather Ehrenstrasser lives and writes in Colorado where she studies English and Film at Metropolitan State University of Denver. When not wrapped up in books and cinema, she can be found wrangling her grumble of pugs and indulging in her love of classical mythology and post-punk.