Blackbirds are resting on the power lines,
Their silhouettes form the notation to
A dawn song set on the sheet music of
Telephone poles contrasted by the pale sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
On the lawn where imprints of twigs
And a nurturing robin’s tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
Porch step railings and mailboxes;
The numbers read even on the
East side of the asphalt:
The engraved letters on
The siding reads, “Davis.”
This house is home to family
So let the sparrows in.
With its branching hallways
Furniture rooted to the floor
Family, friends, the occasional
Out from home.
Let the sparrows in; let
Let the door’s
Loosen—let the door stand ajar
Be let open
The night owls and
Let the doves
In pairs in the iridescent
Let the sparrows in.
Framed on either side of the sofa
Are photographs of far-off family
With stunted smiles that suggest,
“Let’s never meet, but live together.”
A grandfather clock awakens and
Begins counting with occasional glances
The birdsong past the beige veil
Of curtains forecasts daylight.
The hymn of a hummingbird is over-
Heard; it holds still, and keeps moving.
This habitat of indoors and outdoors
Has neighbors: beings and birds.
They’ll never meet, but live together…
…let the sparrows in; let
The starlings start in
Let the warblers and
And whistle alto; let the woodpeckers
A kick and hi-hat;
Let the cuckoo
The grandfather clock
And count the days apart.
The wrens rest in the spare room;
Let them make use
Acrylics and easel; let the terns
Paint portraits of the
The swallows reorient
Room by room
Until they have reached the attic.
Let them overstay
Let the sparrows in—
Nic Swaner is a studying graphic designer and a budding young writer whose flash fiction has been published by 365tomorrows. His writing also makes appearances on origami models, at spoken word events and in his digital artwork.