WING-STROKE
For the women in the shelters
His pockets stuffed with Nyjer seed,
he wonders if it's true
that black-capped chickadees will feed
from human hands. They do.
He stands in fascination while
it pecks, relaxed and cool
yet circumspect. He has to smile;
this bird is no one's fool.
It senses something in his touch,
flits from the palm just kissed,
as if it feels the coming clutch
of outstretched hand to fist.
Smart chickadee, to notice in
the blinking of an eye,
the monster in this next of kin
who wouldn't hurt a fly.
YOU ARE READING
Coming to Terms
PoetryThis is my ten-form poetry submission to the first annual ATTYS competition. All ten poems are related to the process of coming to terms with different life situations: a miscarriage, the death of a loved one in the Vietnam war; a political abductio...
