“The 977 birds killed were mostly warblers…”.
–New York Times, June 18, 2024
Snuffed overnight, their song
died with them: a throng
of palm and yellow-rumped
warblers, indigo buntings, wood
thrushes and soras on their way
to warmth and light. The migrants
camped outside the city, waiting
for the air to cool and the winds
to shift. Roosting in groups at night,
they foraged for seeds and grubs
by day, saving strength for the long
flight. They felt winter coming
in their bird bones, the chill sharpening
into an ache until, with a great flutter
of two thousand wings and the beating
of a thousand tiny hearts, they rose
as one song into the night.
By the time they sensed the squall
brewing in the clouds, it was too late
to turn back. The fleet descended,
flying too low over the artificial glow
that destroyed their night vision,
scrambling flight calls. A feathery panic
set in, then the sickening thuds
of a thousand stunned bodies crashing
into walls of glass. Inside McCormick
Place, lit up for an event, the band
played on. In the morning, a pied
massacre littered the streets,
giving rise to the same old song—
could have, would have, should have.
If only we had drawn the blinds,
turned out the lights.
Author’s note: On the night of October 4, 2023, a thousand migrating birds died after colliding into the McCormick Place Lakeside Center in Chicago (American Bird Conservancy, October 10, 2023).
—
Therese Gleason is author of three poetry chapbooks: Hemicrania (Chestnut Review, 2024); Matrilineal (Finishing Line, 2021; Honorable Mention, Jean Pedrick Chapbook Prize, New England Poetry Club); and Libation (co-winner, South Carolina Poetry Initiative Chapbook Competition, 2006). Her poetry, flash fiction, and essays appear in 32 Poems, Cincinnati Review, Indiana Review, Lunch Ticket, New Ohio Review, On the Seawall, Rattle, and elsewhere. Originally from Louisville, Kentucky, she teaches literacy to multilingual learners in central Massachusetts.
