Bird Talk

inspired by Mary Oliver's Dogfish

When we sat down to eat
it flew near, perched on the filigree rail
amid the garden
fertilized with blood and bones—
the beauty of the female cardinal.

The gray-green of her wings,
a gradient of understated hues,
the way the red of her tailfeathers
catch
in just the right light.

She tilted her head at me, as if to say,
“What do you have for me?”
but by then I had given so much
I ate every last drop.

I wonder now if she was a mother,
looking to feed her chicks,
or if she was just looking
to feed herself.

Maybe she just wanted to be seen.

*
At the beignet café, we sat,
the sounds of jazz floating through the air.

Powdered sugar rose on the fetid wind,
and the house sparrow
perched on the wrought-iron chair,
scattering it
like dust.

She cocked her head at the neighboring table:
“What do you have for me?”
She did not ask me.

I had nothing
to break apart
and offer.

*
At the turn of the new year,
I rose early from my mother’s house
and went to the shore alone.

I sat in the cold air,
breathing, admiring
the perfect s-curves
of the meandering river
leading to the sea.

I was filled with all the things
we often are—
doubts and dreams,
hope regardless.

It came and perched on the post,
watched me close, then raised its head,
tracing the wind—
a messenger.

I had no food for this mockingbird,
only the pen and notebook in my hands—
and maybe
that was the point.

Maybe it isn’t time to feed.
Maybe it’s time to speak.