The Starlings Were You
by ROBERT OKAJI
Morning was a jaundiced memory,
a burnished smear on the kettle
shrilling its warning. Another
prayer siphoned into oblivion.
As when I became in winter
an old man, frail and unclothed,
tending to his barren trees.
The starlings at the feeder were you.
And the black ice in the alley.
How frightening it was to be
so incomplete, so ready. Now
I gather warmth and tinder, place
them in the box, surrendering myself.
What will you do next, I ask. What.
AUDIO
Listen to Robert Okaji read “The Starlings Were You.”
This poem was selected as the winner of the Shō Poetry Prize for Shō No. 6.
