The Birds Outside My Window Sing During A Pandemic
Lee Herrick
What we need has always been inside of us. For some – a few poets or farmers, perhaps - it's always near the surface. Others, it's buried. It was in our original design, though – pre-machine, pre-border, pre-pandemic. I imagine it like the light one might feel through the body before dying, a warm calm, a slow breath, a sweet rush. There is, by every measure, reason for fear, concern, a concert in the balcony of anxiety made of what has always been inside of us; a kind of knowing that everything could break. But it hasn't quite yet and probably won't. What I mean to say is, I had a day dream and got lost inside of it. There were dozens of birds for some reason, who sounded like they were singing in different accents: shelter in place, shelter in place. You're made of stars and grace, Stars and grace, Stars – and grace.
