Day Vs Night
By Wanda Lea Brayton
The day unfolds in slow motion
as birds straighten their crimped wings,
unroll their new songs,
not unaware that another night
creased them, created sharp edges
and tucked corners before putting them behind
a squeaky-hinged door, then closed it securely,
making sure no light would escape,
but forgot the rebellious moon
and her scattered companions of stars,
too weary to chase after what could not be caught
and made captive. The birds chirrup and chatter
to other branches once bare, now filled with the boldness
of morning’s music. They understand the severity of such things
and hop lightly and quickly as if afraid
to maintain contact with earth for more than a moment. They know
there are secrets beneath the ground, along with a feast of worms.
They gather their broods gravely and whisper to them
about the dangers of flight and the savagery of staying
in one spot for one breath too long.
Their fledglings are eager to prove them wrong
or to escape their own fears that it might be so, uncertain,
for they have seen the coming of dusk,
seen mist arise from shadows and the world turn,
awkward and groaning,
unrecognizable in such descent,
an age of darkness unraveled.
