The Flock

I saw it when I was tired and pained,
trudging up the hill in the soupy air.
It was a little cloud, shimmering,
against the opal sky.
It flew across the valley and doubled back,
changing color with the morning light.
A dozen little feathered diamonds against the opal sky.
I smiled like a child who’s just found a silver dollar,
shimmering with the changing light.

I’d seen a similar thing before,
In the old world, in the city of seven hills,
but it was a larger flock then, a multitude,
looking for loaves or fishes.
Dark giant feathered lumps of coal against the smoky sky,
growing, shrinking, flexing,
swooping, absorbing the air.
I’d gazed and shivered and snapped pictures
at the flock of shadows against the smoky sky.

Published by Hannah Kennedy

Hannah is an old lady at heart, with a deep love of yarn and floral patterns. She has curly hair, she is a lefty, she googles everything, and her favorite color is blue. She can usually be found reading everything from nineteenth-century fiction to modern psychology, doing yoga, dragging out chores to fit the podcast she's listening to, or watching The Office with her husband.

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