Mairead Small Staid, American poet.
FOURTEEN LINES ABOUT BIRDS
Mairead Small Staid
Simple, some days: I tip a cup of seeds into the feeder, & they come.
The tree shaken free of its hidden starlings.
The juncos back with a flash of white over the brown, leaf-scattered lawn.
The wren with a beak as long as its song.
The theory that birds wintered on the moon.
How leaves lift with the wind, & birds against.
The sparrow in the barren bush—it only knows two notes, but it will use them.
The theory that the calls of chickadees have grammar.
The wingspan of a pileated woodpecker—Oh my god, I whisper.
As if to it.
Underside like a shadow against the sky.
Some days, I can name nothing but movement.
The beat of wings beside me, turned too late—whatever had come close had gone.
Whatever had come close, come back.