Читать книгу The Carrying - Ada Limón - Страница 15

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The birds were being so bizarre today,

we stood static and listened to them insane

in their winter shock of sweet gum and ash.

We swallow what we won’t say: Maybe

it’s a warning. Maybe they’re screaming

for us to take cover. Inside, your father

seems angry, and the soup’s grown cold

on the stove. I’ve never been someone

to wish for too much, but now I say,

I want to live a long time. You look up

from your work and nod. Yes, but

in good health. We turn up the stove

again and eat what we’ve made together,

each bite an ordinary weapon we wield

against the shrinking of mouths.