Life Without Internet—Liz Snell

"The old sun slipped behind the hackled hills..."

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Life Without Internet

by Liz Snell

We didn’t know what to call these birds that swerved
along the last light of the summer equinox.
At first we thought them bats but bats dance erratic
and these flew deft-winged, dove by sight, not sound.
They were blunt-tailed, not forked like swallows,
who also love the dusk.
We searched our separate lexicons,
fell silent in the lack.
The old sun slipped behind the hackled hills,
red scattered on the sea.
Pipe smoke crocheted around the stars.
We would wait ‘til one arrived
who knew their name.