So many birds, and on occasion
out my window a flock of seagulls,
admittedly not my favorite,
second only to pigeons, but luckily
no pigeons come near my window —
I swear they know better. Then, only
yesterday, several seagulls circling
more graceful than I’d ever seen them
as if I’d never seen a seagull and
even more so, each one illuminated
from below, as if soaring over some
invisible light. Beautiful, I thought
peaceful, pure and white, it was
the antithesis of what I normally think
of these lowly filthy birds — then,
I heard that vicious, frightful cry and
I remembered what they were.
Bio:
Stephen Jackson [he/him] lives in the Pacific Northwest. His work has appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, Dreams Walking, Ghost City Review, Impossible Archetype, The Inflectionist Review, Iō Literary Journal, Mineral, Quince, and S/WORD, as well as on the International Human Rights Art Festival Publishes platform. @fortyoddcrows