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      February 20, 2022Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Yellow-Headed BlackbirdWendy Videlock

      Hundreds of birds fall dead in shocking footage, sparking wild conspiracy theories.
      —Newsweek

      I
       
      The sky is falling.
       
       
      II
       
      Across a dozen hungry nations
      it was a large part
      of the conversation.
       
       
      III
       
      In the small northern town
      of Chihuahua nothing
      is falling
      except a thousand
      yellow-headed
      blackbirds.
       
       
      IV
       
      I was of ten thousand minds
      and twenty
      thousand wings.
       
       
      V
       
      The yellow-headed blackbird
      and the fall and the melting sun
      swept across
      the inside of the eye’s horizon.
       
       
      VI
       
      I do not know which is more
      disturbing, the murmur or
      the sudden slaughter, Moses
      or the water parting.
       
       
      VII
       
      Said the falcon in Chihuahua
      there was only one
      yellow-headed blackbird.
       
       
      VIII
       
      Said the sweeper of the street
      in Chihuahua
      there were fifty thousand
      yellow-headed blackbirds.
      Said the merchant there was no
      time to process three
      thousand bolts of electricity
      or the scraping sound
      that came from the satellite.
       
       
      IX
       
      Said the yellow-headed blackbird
      there is the question
      of the sky,
      the answer of the earth
      and the fiery swoop
      of following the leader.
      Said another, there is also
      the unforgiving pavement
      and its unquiet people.
       
       
      X
       
      O peering little
      hungry ghosts,
      why do you steep
      in your gardens filled
      with grievances?
      Do you not see
      you are the yellow-headed
      blackbird,
      the water
      that is parting,
      the starving
      conversation?
       
       
      XI
       
      I cannot stop thinking about shadows
      as the yellow-headed blackbird
      stammers and pitches and wings
      out of sight. The falcon
      has filled his belly.
      We watch from our gardens,
      remaining piqued and hungry.
       
       
      XII
       
      The winter is dying.
      The spring must be dreaming
      of yellow-headed blackbirds.
       
       
      XIII
       
      It was auburn all afternoon
      and all the trees were purple.
      The words had turned to scarlet
      and the story crept under the bed.
      The yellow-headed blackbird,
      wet-feathered and sky-laden,
      lay curled inside her egg.

      from Poets Respond

      Wendy Videlock

      “I apologize. I could not resist.”