Migration

Written by: Taylor Graham

The wild turkeys disappeared
just before Thanksgiving.
But the flickers are back. I haven’t seen 
the phoebe since last summer.
The nesting hawk is gone.

Searching through the cupboard
for a ladle, I find
a rolling pin that wasn’t mine.
I wonder if the former
lady of the house baked pumpkin pie.

She didn’t leave so much
as her reflection
in a mirror, on a window pane. 
We live like birds here
in our seasons.