Braille of Swallows

This paper-cut was displayed in the Red Metal Door Gallery of April 2006 in a show called "Growth." It is titled, "Braille of Swallows," loosely based off a poem as well as news stories I had heard about birds dropping out of the sky, birds tangled in wires, birds electrocuted by towers.

Braille of Swallows



But for the wind through the tall grasses ,

husks scraping and hair whipped in the breeze,

the stillness sounds harsh billowing dawn.



Plumes of drifting sand, the slight speckled voice,

follows the white, white road arcing at the moon

and an aching morning light eases the whisper of the vale.



A slight, barely-drop through the sparkle-berry trees,

the landing, so pale, in rows of feathers,

lifeless birds crash, braille in the fields––



What begins with one fall becomes another,

spells out faintly teeth through hair and a skirt dropped

in the unsuspected, fumbling dark of a hushed accord.



A flock loses itself, on a cold, bright field

of reeds and ruffled knees,

in the folds and tousles of graying cotton,

where passing cars don’t listen for the feathered flaps



or light chirrups––



a song goes missing from the air