Confined.
Trapped
within the porch,
the wasp batters
itself against watery
glass seeking
nonexistent
exit.
Black,
self-waisted body;
six maroon appendages
waving.
Uselessly,
furiously,
determinedly seeking
what cannot
be found.
The wasp batters
itself against watery
glass.
The wasp batters
itself.
The wasp batters.
Batters.
B
a
t
t
e
r
s.
— C.Birde, 7/20
“Wake!”
she pleaded,
“How can you sleep?
When poppies bloom
in hues of peaches,
dawn, &
mourning doves’
spun-sugar
feet?”
— C.Birde, 7/20
We danced.
O, how we danced…
Our bodies lightly pressed
& touching at wrists,
forearms,
elbows,
hips.
We danced
through a room cluttered,
crowded with tables & chairs;
with people
disinterested,
distracted,
curious.
We danced.
His lead so assured,
so easy to follow
that my step
never
f a l t e r e d.
— C.Birde, 7/20
“Leave
your offerings
on the threshold —
your weight of
stones &
bones &
hearts’
clipped wings.”
She spoke
with the Forest’s
throat.
“I will tend them
while you
rest.”
— C.Birde, 6/20
White cards,
full of breath
& space;
each,
a photo –
pristine,
immaculate –
of a snake.
Black racer.
Smooth Green.
Eastern garter.
Scaled, sleek.
Ectothermic.
Striped or
ringed;
patterned or
plain.
Rat.
Rattle.
Corn.
A slideshow
of snakes,
one after
another.
Reviled or
revered.
Poisonous
& not.
Earth.
Water.
Pine.
Coiled &
sinuous.
Undulating.
Sidewinding.
Concertina.
Rectilinear.
King.
Queen.
Copper.
Transition.
Intuition.
The deep
unconcious.
The slideshow
continues.
Snake after
snake after
snake.
— C.Birde, 6/20
“Gather up
your broken
heart.”
She spoke in green
& blossoms
& rain.
“Polish
the pieces.
Recast
the whole.”
— C.Birde, 6/20
Deep,
dark wood,
moon-bleached
and rinsed of light
of color.
Earth lifts —
root-twined,
rocky —
in slow and steady
upward arch
beneath a burden
of pines.
Gaunt figure.
Slack of limb
and wasted frame,
flame of hair and
spirit snuffed.
He shuffles unaware
in shabby slippers
and threadbare robe
between attentive,
watchful trees.
Alone.
Alone and ghostly.
Diminished.
Lost among
the elements,
whose beauty
would be magnified
did he not
haunt them
so.
— C.Birde, 6/20
“Wait…”
She took my hand.
“Bide with me,
until understanding
grows.”
Silently,
the flowers bloomed
and held
their perfumed
breath.
— C.Birde, 5/20
“Bridal Wreath Spirea” — C.Birde, 5/20
“Tumble…”
She spoke in
a hundred voices,
a thousand voices;
in one.
“Fall
into the wreath
of my arms
&
remember.
Remember
l o v e.”
— C.Birde, 5/20
“Riddle” — C.Birde, 5/20
A riddle –
lacking keyhole,
handle, or
hinges;
An omen –
a stone rolled
‘cross a
tomb;
a door of gray boards,
sunk in the hill’s
chalk white face
and tucked beneath
a green garland of
ivy.
Exit and entry,
impossible
impractical.
Invitation in jest,
deep-set in the hill’s
soft ivied side,
behind peeling gray
boards that board up,
hide, and hoard
mysteries denied —
a riddle.
— C.Birde, 5/20
