– from Alice Jones’ “The Foot”

Perhaps we are birds struggling
ourselves into formation, a way
to dignify. Away we go into each gust.

There is sound along curves
and breaks of rhythm. Turn
around, speak from your back.

You become muffled.
Lights from beach houses, Chinese
lanterns, lit and rainbowed, signal

home. Land to seabirds is quiet.
The lights, the birds, all formed
to their own designs. We are lit, flying.

Jillian M. Phillips is a graduate of UW-Eau Claire's Creative Writing program and received her MFA in Writing from the University of Nebraska.  She lives, writes, acts, and sings karaoke in Eau Claire.