Joe Barca
Birds Fail Me
Spring in Massachusetts—birds chirp, tweet, trill. But nothing is morning. I wake—listen. It’s
my death day. I’m a living obituary. I will never nuzzle lilac on my wife’s neck, feel my children’s
breath, cradle my granddaughter in my elbow’s nest. Never spin the sun, skinny dip in a cup of
coffee, dip a ginger snap in Earl Grey. Never nurse Chianti in a piazza, picnic with a Caprese
salad, lust for the crust of a Neapolitan pizza. Never listen to Ed Sheeran, read Shakespeare,
dance to Shakira. Never taste the salt of the Atlantic Ocean, observe seagulls form a chevron,
wipe sand from the soul of my day. Never watch the Patriots, YouTube or Netflix. Never scroll
Facebook, Instagram, or X. My world is a room, a bed, a single light bulb. I will not go peacefully into the night. I enter the cathedral—a bird as a shimmer of light.
Joe Barca is a poet from the Boston area. He has a partner, two children, and a wheaten terrier named Brady. He is a regular contributor to The Poetry Space podcast, and he reads for Whale Road Review. His work has been included in Rattle, One Art, and South Florida Poetry Journal. Some of his favorite poets are Mai Der Vang, Kevin Young, and Alexis Sears.
Banner Art:
Gulls Feeding, Henry Keller, 1927–1928, The Cleveland Museum of Art
