A word for the nanosecond the small
speckled winter birds,
starlings, I think, rise from the grass in mysterious
collective—who says bird brained?
A word before they make the shape
their rising takes, after wings’ first clap
and burst into loose but distinct oval,
adjusting their one-from-another geometric
as they fly.
Mis en place, says my mother in my mind
quoting Julia Child in her TV kitchen.
A mouth-moving, strung-together-word-on-word
more mellifluous than “flocking”
or “murmuration”—
though murmuration’s pretty good
but not quite right.
The word I want is for the split second
of mutual deciding,
birds lifting out of each-to-its-own forage
into a more perfect union
if such a word exists in any language.
***
Wendell Hawken (she/her) holds a MFA from Warren Wilson Program for Writers. Her publications include three chapbooks and five full collections. Hawken was recently named the inaugural poet laureate of Millwood, VA, where she lives on a northern Shenandoah Valley grass farm.
Cypress Review 