In May’s unclouded light,
I walked my grief –
short leash heart-tethered
Cool blue breath against
my skin reverberating
with our paired gait’s
catch & swing
Strides synchronized
etched from fragrant air
Each, a pulse of beauty,
a tear shed for my own,
for the world’s suffering
Heart-leash short tethered
wending home again
On my doorstep –
patient, casting shadow
Nowhere to go, I let it in.
— C.Birde, 5/24
Run, run, run
run free,
unfettered by mortality’s
pale restraints as,
when first we met,
you ran,
Electron made flesh
in four fleet paws that,
for seventeen years,
obliged earth’s gravity
in jovial orbit.
Run, run, run
run free with yip &
click & jingle, & leave us,
dear Josie,
to the heartbreak
& surreality of your
departure.
— C.Birde, 10/22
There –
there it is…
Rub of grit
Scrape of coal
Shard
at the center
of all things
Grief
in the rose’s
soft pleated heart
Unease
in summer’s blue
unclouded sky
Gather it up,
this unfledged
wisdom
Safeguard &
croon to it
Greet it gently &
grant it
a safe space
to root &
grow.
— C.Birde, 8/21
Lodged
between the ribs
So near the heart’s
sweet beating
Ember
of doubt and fear
Smoldering
Compressed &
prone to flare
at least provocation
Legacy of grief
Invisible
Unseen
Forged so long ago
Catching at all
kindling
Acknowledge it
Smother it
Cover it or
cut it out
It won’t be doused
Ever raw
Lodged & always
burning.
— C.Birde, 2/21
Let go.
Cast off all
that no longer serves
but once served well
and now confines,
constrains the growth
of beating heart,
of wing and song.
Begone.
Exceed those strictures;
self-defined exuviae
at last outgrown.
Slip
restrictive shackles and,
through the atmosphere,
a s c e n d.
— C.Birde, 11/20
“Gather up
your broken
heart.”
She spoke in green
& blossoms
& rain.
“Polish
the pieces.
Recast
the whole.”
— C.Birde, 6/20
I follow his example –
as explained to me –
and, palm placed
against the cage
of that muscled
organ,
speak:
“There, there,
sweet heart,
there, there…”
Does he weep
as he repeats
these words
also?
I cannot,
do not
know.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Two weeks ago, three weeks early, he said goodbye.
A day after the incident –
Pale streak of feathers with talons, outstretched and efficient
Tangle of cries and silence caught within deer netting and ripening tomatoes
The scene unfolding beyond the bay windows, as, unwilling, I observed and thought (disjointedly) of Casablanca, the words re-working in my head
“Of all the birds, in all the yards, in all the world – the hawk has taken mine”
As I thought (unkindly), while running from the house in futile effort, of the multitude of House Sparrows whose numbers could bear thinning, my cries of negation to stop, avert, reverse the course of events and pluck those yellow claws from that small gray breast and separate the two – Little hawk (Sharp Shinned? Coopers? he will not tell me) from Gray Catbird – to unwind time and heal the wound…
Above me, despite me, beyond my reach and will and pleas, Little hawk wheeled away with his prize – young parent to this year’s only fledgling.
The burning bush, previously a-shiver with activity, is still.
The pergola, with its unrestrained clematis vines, remains empty.
The container of raisins sits on the counter, untouched, unshared.
Two weeks ago, three weeks early, he said goodbye —
my small avian friend of untold years —
A day after the incident.
Next year, next spring — so far off —
will reveal if he’ll return
again.
— C.Birde, 9/18
(For Lena.)
Thirst or
hunger?
Confusion, pain, or
exhaustion?
The differences are
arguable;
secret, subtle;
mysterious.
Tell me the way.
My ear —
seeking answers,
guidance —
bends toward
silence.
— C.Birde, 8/18
I gave my cares
to the earth,
to the tumbled soil;
my fears
to the wind’s knife edge;
and my tears
to the rivers and
spreading sea.
A thudding grief
expelled
in howl and echo.
I came undone.
Nothing remained
but time and space,
and the residue
of flint-hard hope
to begin
again.
— C.Birde, 12/17