James O'Brien

Woodpeckers
Oakland summer 2023 
 
That hoarse call, hungry chicks 
(picus erythrocephalus?),
lost to me in a neighbor’s oak tree.
 
A dog barks, another,
a city worker saws 
concrete blocks away. 
 
Your car alarm blares, 
blares, blares birds sing.
Birds squawk, a truck
announces its backing up.
 
I’m meditating.
 
On my street a stranger
unrythmically hammers
 
The morning roar of traffic 
on three freeways fades,
as a plane, two planes pass 
 
overhead, it’s okay,
they’re commercial:
the war has not begun. 
 
I re-close my eyes, 
recall my mantra, 
pass from darkness to dark.
 
I would like to see 
those plaintive baby 
woodpeckers above all
 

James lives in Oakland, California, where he writes about the aftermath of violence and the community of former victims here working to bring safety, healing and change. James has published much nonfiction but has never had a poem published. Selected nonfiction and visual art can be seen at his website, www,icecityalmanac.com.