Poetry by Stacie Eirich
There aren’t any birds here
the only wings in the skies
silver steel, we counted 30
in the space of an hour
over our heads, lights flashing
in early evening skies
drone of engines replacing
songs of sparrows.
On the streets, traffic flows
fast and heavy, whooshing
and swooping across lanes
in swift ascent. Dog-walkers abound
with the dawn, joggers rounding
corners, mothers pushing prams
scores of cars and buses lined up
for drop-off, a continuous cycle
of bicycles, scooters, pedestrians
crossing in pre-dawn light.
I turn down the radio and listen
for each next turn, navigating
a maze of one-ways, interchanges
and tollways. Siri leading me
to the next somewhere else
somewhere new, exciting as it is
unfamiliar and frightening.
It isn’t the size that frightens me,
or the humanity—but that cold silver
in the skies, feathers and song replaced
with aluminum alloys.
101 tons of titanium circling above
our homes, our heads, our children
in the blazing sun of a 106-degree
afternoon, humid and buzzing
with dragonflies, our ears adjusting
to the constant drone of engines
through the night, our hearts longing
for the melodies of
the Carolina Wren
the Eastern Bluebird
the American Robin
the Northern Cardinal.
Our memories full
of blue Louisiana skies
painted with wings
of feathers and light
melody and song drifting down
to meet us in greening grass
brassy winds playing a background
breeze of second-line jazz in our
small-town backyard.
Stacie Eirich is a mother, poet & singer who recently moved to Texas. In 2024, her poems have appeared in Kaleidoscope, The Bluebird Word, Synkroniciti, and Elizabeth Royal Patton Poetry Prize Anthology. In 2023, she lived in Memphis while caring for her child through cancer treatments at St. Jude. Find her at www.stacieeirich.com.
