“Together,” she sang,
“Always together.
Regardless of where we stand.
We walk together.
Hearts. Thoughts.
Hands forever at work.
Each act and choice and step
a kiss, a bruise pressed
to this precious skin of land.”
— C.Birde, 7/20
Seven months
since last we met.
Five months since…
Since…
Yet even in passing glance,
even at distance –
familiar.
Stature & gait;
wave of dark, curled hair;
eclipse of cheek –
familiar.
The shade of dress alone
speaks of difference –
uncharacteristic green
of emeralds,
of deep woods
thickly forested in memory
& being.
A color that suits you,
becomes you.
But…
Away, you stride,
path cleared of obstacles.
Unshackled.
Freed.
And I –
bumped & jostled
by this noisome,
swallowing
crowd –
though I call out,
though frantically,
I wave,
you neither see nor hear;
continue on your
way.
I missed you.
I miss you.
Seven months
since last we met.
Five months since…
Since…
— C.Birde, 7/20
“I am the rain,”
her voice pattered
amongst the leaves,
“slaking & soaking,
praised & cursed.
I am a multitude –
of oceans,
of voices;
raising & eroding.”
She touched my face.
“I accept,”
she hushed,
“your tears.”
— C.Birde, 7/20
“Do you have the time?”
I asked.
He shook his head,
continued walking.
“Rats,” I sighed.
“…I think my four-o-clocks
are slow…”
— C.Birde, 7/20
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
