Mother’s Creatures, Flying Wonders: Poetry by Taneesh Kaur

A flock of black birds swoop by my window,
North, then West, as if circling my apartment
swooshing around the house, a tornado of playful joy.
Their shadows would dance on the carpet, captivate
in the morning light if it were morning
but it’s afternoon when the sun doesn’t reach in.
I am sitting across from the middle section
of the window. It’s a triptych, sectioning off the view to the East:
|   Road  ||  House  ||  Trees  |
A single black bird flies
toward me
it flies for me
in the middle
from above the house
always in sight
always in the center
of the center section
of the triptych
it approaches the window.
Its last flaps until
with the momentum of a rollercoaster, all its intensity and thrill,
and the grace of a swan
though somehow not a swan, not a rollercoaster,
it shoots up
always in sight, always 
front and center.
Commands my attention with its purposeful glide
like a resolute gaze
until out of view.
Maybe up to the sky, maybe over the house.
My what a view.
I see stars.
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