by Isaac James Richards

 

Talk to birds they say
you’ve got to talk
to birds to be a poet

why? they always reply
fly headlong into glass
and drown themselves

in the chalice of a
birdbath stuck in
a feeder hole

I’d rather talk to cement
lifeless from jungle to
concrete jungle look

I know you look so
solid but deep down
you’re weak you crack

you’re porous you give
way to expanding ice
and trickling water and

stretching root and
skyward tufts of grass
you’re as vulnerable

as life as fragile
as a bird you bend
and break with

the turning universe
you are an illusion of
stability and permanence

what you really are
is proof that nothing
humans create will

ever be what humans are
one day years hence
you’ll be mossy

an overgrown place
for birds to rest
feet on soft warm stone

only poems can imbue
the lifeless with life
give wings to rocks

see that plane overhead
now concrete flies
talk to it ask it how

does it feel to be a bird
lifeless yes but airborne
and so full of humanity

because I know that a
rock’s heart beats faster
when tossed off a waterfall

I’m waiting for stones to
breathe and for flowers to
burst from cracked-open birds

 

 

 

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Isaac James Richards is a reader for Fourth Genre, a contributing editor at Wayfare, and a Pushcart Prize nominee. His poems have appeared in Amethyst Review, Constellations, Red Ogre Review, Stoneboat, and several other venues. His most recent work is forthcoming in Oxford Magazine. In the fall, he will begin a PhD at the Pennsylvania State University. Find him online at isaacrichards.com and @isaacjamesrichards.