"Little Bird"

I watch you little bird,
trying to come upon the words for you
you are
skittish,
reluctant,
relentless,
fitful.
What watchful dance
you do, each feather a flutter:
all that tiny envergy
for a round seed
and a drizzle of water.
What it must be like to flight
so quickly:
to leave with such delightful ease.


"The Color"

if i have to choose,
i say Vandyke Brown or Burnt Sienna:
something of the umber family,
definitely soil like or ashy.
A humble color, quiet, demure,
dirt brown, wise in it's leaf like manner.



"Why I Have A Feather On My Desk"

an angel giggle,
trickle from heaven, hint of the ethereal,
your straw like hollow bones so foreign;
I leave you out for remembrance,
for a totem
that I too am alien.


"What My Life Needs"

my life needs more feathers
and shells and turtle parts, bleached white
in the sun to clank as I walk.
I own not one piece of cloth dyed
green by leaves and grass. Such a poverty
in this city living, what earth I lack.


"Birds"

deceptively strong winged:
an offering of still air,
inconspicuous wind,
you survive among us, in spite of us,
in spite of such beautifully hollow feathers (so perfectly)
doing what they are designed to do.


"I Brought One In By Accident"

i brought one in by accident.
to escape
the blind siding cold in (of all things) May,
and there it was
hidden under the twine of my Heart Shaped
Leaf Philodendron: shaking a bird's fear, obviously
afraid that maybe I would eat it or something.

All I remember is:
how loudly I screamed and over something so small:
how cold the concrete was to bare feet:
how it was a plain bird-good
for ground cover hiding
speckled brown and its eyes with such fright.
I saw its pulse in its breast feathers, rapid,
just before it flew into the cold killing night.


"Being Catchable"

being a mother who wouldn't allow
my sister and me to pick up feathers (because
of the diseases they were known to carry)
I am amazed that she let us, not only touch, but shoe box
and hand feed the Jay: it being obviously
sick. I mean we were handling it.
How much more evidence of coming death
does one need than a bird being catchable? And we fed it dog food.
Canned dog food.
(making some childish connection between the grossness
of fancy pet and worms.)
And it ate it.
I wish that I could take this somewhere.
Make it someway into a lesson,
but mostly it is about how stiff it became
and how quickly.