She wore
a dress
of antique
pink
&
sang
to the fragrant,
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
rain.
— C.Birde, 5/20
Antique — An Image
“Clean Break” — A Poem
Six weeks.
Broken
dishwasher.
No call
placed.
Each day,
each night –
hands sunk
wrist-deep.
Sloshing hot
suds,
Honey-suckle
scented.
Plates,
utensils,
cups,
hands –
all washed
clean.
No need
to count
twenty.
— C.Birde, 5/20
Whisper — An Image
“Unfold your
origami
heart…
Call my name;
I will hear…”
She smiled
in cherry blossoms,
in rain-soaked,
attentive
air.
“Even if you
w h i s p e r.”
— C.Birde, 5/20
Fable — A Poem
Let
the rain
fall softly
soft
perfumed
mist of lilacs
hyacinths
anoint light-
sealed eyelids
that recall
call
to mind fabled
Edens lost &
painless-
ness.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Altered View — A Truth
With all that is &
is not currently
occurring, I find
myself drawn to
windows, closed;
staring outward,
sitting, waiting
for Gray Catbird’s
return.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Rain — An Image
“With patience,
I shall rain
on you,”
her voice swayed,
slantwise,
“like a thousand fingers,
gently drumming,
u n t i l
you
understand.”
— C.Birde, 4/20
Sweet… — A Truth
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
Emblem — An Image
“I bring you flowers,
from tight buds
unfolding…”
softly,
she spoke,
in breath perfumed
with violet &
hyacinth.
“Reminder
that change
can be
sweet.”
— C.Birde, 4/20
Specific Grief — A Poem
For You…
Each time we meet,
that specific grief
and I,
in some unexpected
curl of psyche,
it is always,
ever,
and again,
as if for the first time.
Like the rasp of thorn
or briar on skin
presumed whole,
unmarred,
unbroken —
fresh surge of pain;
scarlet bright.
When we meet,
my grief and I,
old friends reunited,
we embrace –
awkwardly,
so carefully –
and, as one,
we weep.
— C.Birde, 4/20
A Me — A Dream
How,
in dream,
can I know you?
With your eyes,
concentric rings
of brown and
blue chasing
‘round a pupil
so clear and
dark?
In dream,
so clearly
I see you clad
in silver starlight;
platinum hair,
a cascade that waves
about your shoulders
in halo.
You,
of the High Tower,
so utterly familiar
as a part of his
life,
not mine
(though here, now,
he knows you
not at all)
while in my
wakened state,
I reflect that
I have never,
ever
set eyes
on anyone
remotely like
you.
Surely,
I would
remember…
— C.Birde, 4/20