by Carol Casey
on my skylight
conversing, lingering,
their raucous cries
a threshold to
somewhere near
the profound earth
of birth, or death.
Their gravelly calls
fill me with fear
that is part longing.
In the midst of illness
I ask them
are you telling me
to live or die?
Both, they say.
That’s hard, I tell them.
They pace about,
black talons
staccato on the glass.
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Carol Casey lives in Blyth, Ontario, Canada. Her work has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has appeared in a number of journals and anthologies around the world, including Backchannels and Blue Unicorn. She recently published her first book of poems: What Can Happen: Family and Other Raptures of Imperfection.