it happens
from time to time, a mystery
small bird in the house
junco wild-flight hurl at glass door
falling stunned; sparrow
parked on pantry, peering
black-eyed over the molding
how it spent a night in the mixing bowl
how I caught it in the curtain, heart beating
flutter in my closed hand
how the dog whined and pointed
how the cat had grown bored long since
the gift already given
is snow on ice on ice on snow
and we know this is metaphor
also, this floundering through drifts
and bleak shivering, a slip and a fall
juncos flit and chickadees
never give up their song, the warning note
for all these branches bent under
their own frozen weight, summer’s broken stems
brittle and glazed
how far down do we hold our love’s roots, the seeds
and is this the winter
that kills them
snow clouds re-gather,
cardinals chirp, crabapples
bright against full gray
and seed feeder full—how else?
some give; others only take
cleaning frenzy downstairs the ruckus
of laundry and drowning perfume
birds dart tree to tree unable to settle
on this branch or that much less thought
but the pair of ducks on the neighbor’s roof-
peak: they stand, step closer together,
pause, step again, coyly dip their heads—
my half-cup of coffee still warm
shadow is your friend, shifting light
and alleys of retreat
when in doubt:
birdsong
and keep a place reserved, quiet
corner of no one
i.
the cardinal sudden like words
from a friend, bright unexpected
against leafless sky, same sweet
song and soul-balm
ii.
not faith but a kind of pride, your belief
every day should offer something
like this dirt finally warming,
hand-crumbled, enough?
iii.
if the pansies survive
this record cold, it is no god’s bow
to the balance due, nor even
to your impatience
broad summer is no time for poems
not with sunflowers nodding, laden
garden spiked with color
dart of wings and cicadas singing
rather, all this haymaking over dreams
while the sun shines
some poetic justice though, heart-pause
for rabbit nestlings in the carrots
…and huddles in the marigolds
because I saw the opossum
improbably trotting across the road
and thought first of Piglet then parents
children helpless things all those
waiting-watching-waiting for loved ones
to come back and in that slow-flash
you hit your brakes swerved behind me
(is it raining out there? it’s raining here too)
waking not anger sadness superiority but
neither mere impatience
with your impatience
Graceful Press Poetry 