To kill a mocking bird by L. Whittaker
Energy Is A Dirty Business
Missed Connections in Brooklyn
Flying closer to an uncertain future
i angle my body into
the wind
and as my eyes trace the outlines
of a distant
shore
i rise high above
the horizon
and look back at the place
where I first learned
to fly
but all I can see is a
gulf of
despair and remember
the days
of those golden
summers
Her Two Cents
They say that to kill a mockingbird is a sin; it’s a harmless, peaceful creature singing the songs of other birds. The life of a bird is short compared to that of humans, but I have to wonder if a collective memory is passed on of migration patterns, home territories, and food sources. What does a bird think when the present landscape no longer matches with the past? How much can a creature adapt before it can change no more?
