Murmur

by Michele Parker Randall

River, when I meet you, I’ll ask
if the Spirit of God still hovers
over. Omen. Symbol. A way
pointed by starlings.

And when I ask you
for a sign, I mean fool-proof plan.
Itinerary. Sturnidae. From the sky
a cloud shaped like a talon.

I search out birds
in poetry, street names, & logos.
All, nothing. I interpret water,
vapor, ever-shifting; Joni’s
ice cream castles & angel’s hair.

Sturnus. Spellbinding, old-world
songbird. Today a beribboned sky,
starlings flutter & surge, a kite string
living. S. Vulgaris, murmurizing,
swivel-image, hypnotizing. I forget
they strip seedlings, roost dark—
iridescent tens & thousands. Amen.


Michele Parker Randall is the author of Museum of Everyday Life (Kelsay Books 2015) and A Future Unmappable, chapbook (Finishing Line Press 2021). Her poetry can be found in Nimrod International Journal, Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, Tar River Poetry and elsewhere.

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