photo 2019 by Bruce Berman
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The Birds Are Flying Over
the birds are the dead
or the ghosts of the dead
flying over
we salute the birds
see their shadows
on this day of the dead
they are kings and queens
so much more than us
as we take our place next to them
the birds are the dead
or the souls of the dead
flying over
we salute the birds
and pray for their passage
we burn sage and candles
for their safe arrival
they carry our faulty traits
our lies
our stolen inglewood beer
our ripped off keg money
and every woman who ever wronged us
and every woman we ever wronged
they carry our children who were never born
they carry our drugged-crazed eyes
they carry our eight-balls of cocaine
our cheap marijuana
our irish whiskey
our pharmaceutical morphine
they carry our love for the black market
they carry the cities that are all black market
they carry el paso and los angeles
they carry every echo park overdose
they carry our nicknames like chuco and slim
slim angel and larry safeway
rolling red and mescalero dancing crow
gordo and flaca
standing man and standing bear
they carry the medicine that we carry
the medicine that we burn
they carry the medicine we didn’t know we had
like wolf and raven
owl and lizard
they carry us without regret
they carry our ancestors and entire countries
they carry all of ireland, all of mexico
the places we know and love
all of ireland, all of mexico, all of new mexico
and they tell us the irish are the mexicans of europe
and they tell us that everything
is the way it is supposed to be
they tell us don’t struggle just surrender
they tell us our day is coming soon
our chance at happiness
our chance for the other side
they tell us to light all the candles
to pray all of the rosaries
to mix the rosary with the medicine pipe
to accept your medicine name
to pray on your name
to contemplate the ardagh chalice
and the ditch banks of moss
to get in the sweat lodge
to hold the buffalo skull
to stuff its eyes with sweet grass and sage
they tell us to fly now
and respect those who never do or never will
and respect those mired in liquor and weed
and pills and rusted needles
respect them and love them
for their time is coming
they tell us our time is coming
when we will be them and they us
they tell us to open the windows and let them in
for we will be them and them us
and they tell us all paths are one
and death is a celebration
death is now
death is everyday
and death will only be the beginning
our chance to fly
our chance finally to be the birds
our chance to be them and so much more than them
or simply them and nothing more
for we will be the birds of the dead
the souls of the dead
and the birds are flying over
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Lawrence Welsh has published 12 books of poetry, including Begging for Vultures: New and Selected Poems (University of New Mexico Press). His books have won the Southwest Book Award, the New Mexico-Arizona Book Award, the Southwest Books of the Year Award, and have been short listed for the PEN Southwest Book Award and the Writers’ League of Texas Book Award. His poetry, reviews, essays, as well as journalistic writings, have appeared in more than 300 national and regional magazines, journals, newspapers and anthologies.
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