Their Simple Beauty

Baby birds, it's said, are born not knowing 
their notes. They learn them from their mother's 
throats in the way children learn their ABCs 
at parental knees, muh muh muh becoming mother, 
da da da, daddy; cheep cheep cheep, a cantata.
That being so, do poets find a poetic ear 
in the sphere of their predecessors?

Young, with island sand and salt my milieu, 
my concerts were the calls of shorebirds, 
the forlorn foundling cries of gulls, the staccato 
siren of a tern, should you carelessly venture 
too close to her nest; the stuttering dance-step 
of  sandpipers, miniscule but mighty.  Then, 
there were the rest: foraging land birds, seeking 
fare left by the incoming tide, their darkness 
incongruous on the purity of a beach. 

There was a time, walking to my garage 
when I found a songbird dead in my driveway; 
its small body supple, still warm to the touch, 
not ready to die just yet like all of us.  I 
placed it in a box (ashes to ashes, bird to sky), 
laid it to rest under the fig tree in my backyard, 
and not knowing its persuasion, I 
fashioned a cross of sticks over the fresh 
earth, believing we shared the sanctity of 
simple beauty, the brevity of life.

Near a lake where I live now, sibling to the sea, 
briny by proximity, birdsong is rampant 
in early spring. I have heard the 'death bird', 
he of the shrill one-note filled with foreboding, 
who heralded the passage of a dying husband 
in an interminable summer of illness.  Here, 
there are the sharps and flats of ordinary 
choristers, and one whose mother was surely 
a coloratura soprano in a former life.  

This one whose concert halts me spellbound,
turns me to stone (not salt) with his serenade of
couplets, no two the same, some so comical I laugh 
out loud to the absent cars and senseless concrete 
of my parking lot.  He sings and sings, never
abated, nothing by rote, and I? I wait, heart in 
my throat, should he be the songbird from 
under the fig tree, reincarnated.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace