grackle

BY JULIE SUMNER

An oil-slick of a bird,
midnight sheen in flight,
a blackened rainbow
plodding through the weeds
at the road’s shoulder,
scavenging dead ants and stale fries—
you stop to stare at me,
take inventory with your
unapologetic amber eyes
and find me wanting
due to my own want.
You tilt your head at me,
pitying my blindness
to the feast right
in front of me

Catalpa