Elizabeth Joy Levinson lives, teaches, and writes on the west side of Chicago. She is the director of the writing Center at North Lawndale College Prep. Her work has appeared in several journals, including Hobble Creek Review, Up the Staircase, and Apple Valley Review. She has an MFA in Poetry from Pacific University in Oregon.
The Starlings of Bridgeport
Above the city that burned and burned and was rebuilt with lights that bounce off the atmosphere and yellow the sky, casting out the stars, the starlings rise, with wings spread they darken the night again, and feathers, lit at the tips, spark like dying embers.
Every night, they create constellations and call out new compositions to each other. No one understands why they have risen from the ashes that cooled years ago and were buried beneath foundations of brick and concrete. Every night, just before the city sleeps the starlings call out and a memory might respond.