Alisa Golden
Waiting for News
This night I sleep like
a migrating bird,
one hemisphere lowered
out of body, the other
roaming dark streets –
the high-rise where
the recycling center
used to be,
People’s Park, still
peopled and tarped against
the University’s reign –
and both halves collide
when my eyes open,
arguing who got more
as morning brings a
storm and a hummingbird
clinging to the red
feeder, weighing less
than a marshmallow,
but more than a raindrop.
Alisa Golden reads a paper newspaper at breakfast, walks her inner dog daily, and edits Star 82 Review while imagining she saw another bird. www.neverbook.com | www.star82review.com