“Nomads” — C.Birde, 11/19
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
“Nomads (detail)” — C.Birde, 11/19
“Cracks” — 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
“White Oak” — 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
“Disambiguity” — C.Bide, 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
“Gwynnie” — 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
“Black-Capped Chickadee” — L.Gloshinski, 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
“Abloom” — C.Birde, 11/19
Apart.
Afloat.
Untethered.
A gleaming white
rectangle of steel
girders
bolts
beams
enclosed in sheet-rock,
resurfaced in smooth plaster.
(suspended mid-air
betwixt and between
heaven and earth)
Large windows –
dark and glossy,
unblinking as the eyes
of Argus –
peer out from
four impassive
faces;
an alignment
of rows and columns
arranged in subliminal
drumbeat.
(suspended mid-air
betwixt and between
heaven and earth)
Static.
Patient.
Impersonal.
Until
until
from all seams and
edges describing
roofline
windows
quoins
large curls
of crinkly white paper
sprout
uncoil
uncurl
like tongues
of honeysuckle flowers,
each a brilliant hue –
red, yellow, green,
pink, purple, blue.
The building entire
(suspended mid-air
betwixt and between
heaven and earth)
unexpectedly transformed
in whimsical riot
of motion and color.
Afloat and
abloom.
— C.Birde, 11/19
“Impression” — 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
“Earthbound” — C.Birde, 11/19
“Fall with me,”
she said.
“We’ll drift
— lightly, carelessly —
& lay
the foundations
of
earthbound
beauty.”
— C.Birde, 11/19
Nightjars & Damselflies 