they been whisperin to me lately:
“time to stop. ur done. it’s over”
and their voices are like leaves, or like gravel, or layers of skin.
they need to stop; i can’t sleep with all their shifting calls.
but now that one’s flown into my window i’m fin’ly done searching, it says.
“did this fr you, brther, fr you”
but i wasn’t looking for bits
flesh every time i look up at my desk;
the rain hasn’t washed it away and it clings
against the wind, brushes against the glass and tries
to paint me something, maybe
if i can see it i’ll understand it, stop ignoring their voices
and we can all sleep together again.
Tyler Wright is a graduate from Lesley University with a BA in English and in Creative Writing. His work has previously appeared in Commonthought and Drum Circle. He currently lives in Hartford, CT where he works as an Vista Outreach Coordinator with the Division of the Public Defenders