by Barbara Brooks  

adorn the snags: oaks, pines—
vultures rest for the night.  In early morning light,
the wind lifts them to scour the roadways
for the frosted carcass.  One by one, they drop
from their perch, silver-tipped wings sweep the air. Every day, hundreds rise to kettle over my head.
I want them to swoop down, land,
pick my brain clean of its black thoughts.

Barbara Brooks is the author of two chapbooks, “The Catbird Sang” and “A Shell to Return to the Sea.” Her work has been accepted in Chagrin River ReviewThe Foundling ReviewBlue Lake Review, among others.