The Maynard
Spring 2016

Amie Whittemore

Starling Advice

Embrace your dark multitudes.
Launch fearlessly.
Imitate the brashest sounds you know—car alarm,
orgasmic woman. Open your beak.
Court aggressively.
Praise Shakespeare for including you,
praise unexpected migration.
Ash thrown from sunset’s hearth,
perch and writhe in summer’s yawp.
Love your lack of enemies.
Put on your oil raincoats, clang your brave chants.
Eat plum, grub, curbside garbage.
Leave no tree unshaken.
Delight. When cursed, mimic.
When threatened, strike.
Then fling your constellations
into twilight’s robes, foil those wingless dopes
who would imprint you with longing, its treasons.