A pigeon perches on a power line.
           Little Double-Dutch girls chant
“birdie, birdie sittin’ on a wire—”
           The last sun alights on the houses.

The pigeon and the girls become
           the song whispered by the alder trees.
Friends, I say this in the lowdown
           of the evening, when the day reckons

and dark swells over the street
           like a mushroom cloud. In this fable
the bird is a newly crowned king,
           clutching tight to its thin throne.

The girls then split my heart
           into flower; the pigeon spreads
its wondrous wings. Somewhere in this story
           is you, sitting in your own evening,

trying to fend off the night
           or, at the very least, survive it.
Even when the Double-Dutch girls
           are called away and the bird rises

beyond human sight, even though
           the trees are ripped into the air
by the terrible mind’s eye, we all
           find our way back to skin and bone.

This article appears in February 3 2020.

Brian Patrick Heston’s poetry has appeared in Southern Review, Prairie Schooner and North American Review among other publications. Hs first book, If You Find Yourself, won the Main Street Rag Poetry Book Award. He is also the author of the chapbook, Latchkey Kids.