Evicted.
Expelled.
Dispossessed
of that old house
on the hill.
Three stories
of tilting timeworn
clapboard
& peeling paint
flaking over tired
green grass.
Seize it. Take it.
And welcome.
It matters not at all.
For in the moonless
night-spangled
dark,
I moved (removed),
like guileless wind,
all small & coveted
prized possessions –
a whole life’s worth
of work & soul
& pulsing wounded
heart –
to the small brown
bungalow nested
oh-so-sweetly
in the valley
below.
— C.Birde, 4/21
“Sing with me”,
she trilled,
“our tongues curling
‘round each fleet,
green note;
‘round the tender sound
of each new leaf
unfurling…”
— C.Birde, 4/21
Spring —
season
of promise and
uncertainty;
that green-frilled,
pink-budding gift,
waiting
to be
o
p
e
n
e
d.
— C.Birde, 4/21
“In yellow,
I rejoice,”
she swept her arms
wide as her
grin,
“You will see me
a’thrill
in each daffodil &
forsythia,
each dandelion &
goldfinch
returning.”
— C.Birde, 4/21
Wash
the trees’
tight buds
in pink blush
of twilight
& whisper
in sweet hyacinth
breath.
Tidal spring,
engulf us all.
Sweep
up our hearts
in a swoon
of petals’
drift.
— C.Birde, 4/21
So grateful
for your visit,
so many months
since your last.
A full year since…
Over a year…
Seeing you at all –
as you were,
as always you will be
in memory –
is Gift enough.
Even if
you don’t speak,
don’t see me,
don’t stay.
Grateful,
all the
same.
— C.Birde, 4/21
“I may weep &
lash out
in wind &
thunder,”
she placed
a wreath
of dappled light
upon my brow,
“but
I will always
sing to you again
in hyacinths &
daffodils.”
-- C.Birde, 4/21
