Abigail Chabitnoy

1.

in my dreams when i was young and newly in love

newly bound in love

i hung the birds in churches

before industrial fans in the ceiling

in the rafters above the old women singing

where they might give the illusion of flight.

2.

don’t fill my ark with flightless birds

wings dried tight and bound

on their sides.

if the bird won’t sing, let the old women

send their notes on smoke and let blades spin feathers

into objects of affection.

3.

the dirty birds in the harbor cling to the rigging

like baleful Christmas ornaments. like the chuparosa

my mother’s sister bought for me.

4.

on the island see the nation’s birds for what they really are:

opportunistic feeders. like us

they adapt. pluck the crust

from the child’s hands.

5.

white plastic bags flutter treetops

trash hangs from the nests of black kites

there’s something they want to show off—

nests with the most plastic belonging

to the strongest the young

have not yet learned to covet.

we should be proud.

many cling to grim odds. the good news

(such as it is). what is left will collect.

people only want to see

the negative effects [of] flooding / but

there’s a lot of green in this climate change

to be had.

6.

the first ark was not large enough

nearly and in (-) substantial/ly

monument/al—already

spit on the divide.

the second bought for insurance

claims inevitably to sink

into such Kentucky scorched earth.

[insert your home state here and

hold your breath.]

7.

ultimately suppose it might come

to swimming after all. or

nothing. nothing too

                                   a possibility—