During the eclipse, the birds went silent.
They believed in the brief night, and
As the sun came back, in Sunrise.
They sang as desperately as they had at daybreak.
It was 3:00 in the afternoon.
Brienne said she was embarrassed for them
I supposed I could be, looking at my hands
Where wings had failed to root.
This piece was published under The Ubyssey's Creative Non-fiction Corner. Want to submit a personal essay, short story or poem? Subscribe to our features newsletter for monthly writing prompts under this column.
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