The Birds of Drancy

Little birds spill onto the gravel Chirping with disoriented confusion. A spindly flock warbling “Mère! Mère!” Through cracked lips and bony beaks. Hawks circle indifferently Unfamiliar with the call But acquainted with the cry. The scarecrows converge, Singing their songs of Reunion across the river. Seductive assurances and Dry straw lies Come together when Hopeful lines form For a mère poule promise. Across that green field The boathouse beckons, Under late summer boughs Alive with blossoms. Across that green field The boatman waits.