Birds and
Vampires: Films Inspire Poetry
Sandy DeLuca
Was a Sunday in August,
when seagulls followed the Block
Island ferry
on its way back to Point Judith…
snatching chips, fries,
half-eaten burgers
from tourists’ hands.
Bags laden with books on my lap.
Obsessed with Lord of the
Rings that summer.
An art student looking for
inspiration
on the sandy beach,
at people gathered
in shops and restaurants.
The birds congregated,
gobbling leftovers from lunch.
Scavengers basic to the sea,
to people who live there.
On that day, as the sun sunk,
turning the ocean deep blue,
emerald green,
splashes of orange and yellow…
I guardedly raised a scrap of
food
to beggars on my way home from
the island…
thinking of Bodega Bay.
I recalled it was different
there.
The gulls and sparrows
craved more than food scraps,
killers, furious with residents.
Hitchcock did it well.
After all these years…
I still shudder.
Even now, I walk faster when
blackbirds assemble
on cable wires…
look over my shoulder when
ravens caw.
To be honest, I hunch my
shoulders
during twilight walks…
peer into tangled trees,
cringe when I turn a corner.
All those vampire films…
Dracula, Lestat…lost boys.
They float into gray clouds,
over constellations
turn to ash with sunrise.
That’s when my cockatoos and
budgies.
squawk, whistle, cry
for fruit and seed.
I oblige them…
fingers pricked, blood droplets
fall to the floor, feathers
float in semi-dark
as the moon fades…
That’s
when crows begin to scream.
