The experience
held the unsavory
kernel of want –
like an absence
of salt
in aromatic soup
revealed only after
the spoon
lifted,
the lips
parted,
the tongue
tasted;
lodged like a seed
in the gum
(unreachable)
where wisdom once
resided.
— C.Birde, 12/19
Blue. White. Green.
Sky and clouds.
Rolling hills and lawn and trees.
These three brilliant, dazzling colors
dominate, as far as the eye can see.
To the right,
stroked between heaven and earth,
a long, low white house, modern and
featureless but for horizontal slabs
of black reflective glass
stretched like unspooled, undeveloped
film along the length of its recumbent
form.
From this structure’s back protrudes –
like the sweep of eyelet bridal train –
a semicircular deck of wood,
white, as well, but of a faded, ashen shade,
its brilliance muted, bleached
away.
And she, me, I.
The interruption.
Standing amidst this color scheme –
serene blue and white and green;
in striped, knee-high socks of every hue –
purple, pink, pale-yellow, orange, and
chartreuse;
one hand holds a bar of soap –
lavender-scented,
lavender-paper wrapped,
lavender, in both tint and tinge.
Standing there,
breeze gently lifting the hair
from our shoulders as we break the bar
in two and slip a brittling half into each sock’s
pulled-high, ribbed, fine-woolen
cuff.
I, me, she –
the lone bright-colored slash of verticality
in the entire placid,
tri-hued,
reclining,
scene.
— C.Birde
We write
our message
in undulating script,
in swoops & swirls,
in disappearing
ink.
Look up.
Lookfeelhear.
Decipher our plumed
& urgent patterns.
Lookfeelhear
our passage.
Mark our departure
& our absence.
Our pennate cycles
intersect & weave
as
o n e.
— C.Birde, 11/19
Hear,
overhead,
his heels fall –
like iron mauls –
against the floor.
Hear him rage
and roar.
His fury –
unleashed,
unfocused,
unfettered –
tumbles headlong
down the stairs,
bruised,
concussed,
wounded.
How long
can this continue?
can he maintain such
fiery wrath?
How does the ceiling
not crack?
his feet not break through
both plaster and
lath?
“Tell him.”
She speaks from across
the kitchen’s tiles,
from the safety
of self-imposed exile,
where,
with studied care,
she avoids your eye.
“Tell him how
he makes you feel.”
In a breath,
in a beat
he is there.
Toe to your toes,
towering and tall,
from roiling anger,
looming;
and all words have
vanished,
swallowed up
in a gasp,
in a gulp.
Wounded,
concussed,
bruised.
Tell him.
Tell him.
What she could not
and never would.
That his anger –
unfettered,
unfocused,
unleashed –
returns you
to fearful daze
of childhood;
that his roar blinds
and numbs and
strips away all
thought.
Choose
your words with care
and, while so choosing,
realize, of a sudden,
the surrounding,
enveloping
silence.
Realize
you have found,
at last, your voice,
and have already
spoken.
— C.Birde, 11/19
She had known,
in her life,
both grief & joy;
and
lifted her limbs,
— interlaced, interwoven —
in hope
exultant.
— C.Birde, 11/19
Always,
always —
those moments,
unexpected,
of flashing perplexity;
the passing
passive,
reflective glimpse
of eyes &
lips &
nose;
of skin stroked
over forehead,
cheeks &
brow.
The mirrored
bewilderment:
That is me?
Is that me?
Elapsing years
crease &
crinkle,
scar &
wrinkle.
Daily greetings,
benign
astonishments.
The uncertainty,
the mystery
of self remains.
Always,
always
changing;
always,
always
un-
changed.
— C.Birde, 11/19
“Will you stay?”
Her wheaten
buff-gold
lemon-drop gaze
compells
without judgment.
“So that I
might
s
t
a
y
?”
— C.Birde, 11/19
How
to clasp joy
in this world
of aching
loss?
Of bees and birds
of breath
of birds and bees
of life
Exchange
your salt shaker for
wildflower seeds
Cast aside
your blind and grudging
stones
Create
a sacred space
for the fierce impossibility of
feather
flesh and
bone
Feed two birds
with clear eyes and
hopeful heart,
with one open,
widespread
palm.
— C.Birde, 11/19
She had had
the impression,
she realized —
with the chill wind
against her
cheek
&
the leaves’
trembling refusal
to let go —
that it all
should last
l
o
n
g
e
r.
— C.Birde, 11/19
“Fall with me,”
she said.
“We’ll drift
— lightly, carelessly —
& lay
the foundations
of
earthbound
beauty.”
— C.Birde, 11/19