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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.
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