For The Birds

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


Poetry

Submitted: March 24, 2018

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Submitted: March 24, 2018

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FOR THE BIRDS

By A. Guinevere Kern

 

My deaf and hare-lipped wife

Talks to birds. 

That is to say, 

She warbles, cheeps and trebles

To various and unclassified

Breeds of Aves which brood

In brambly, tissue-entwined,

Tin-foil twinkly nests

Clutched in the branches of

The great White Oak outside

Our balcony. Egad! The noise!

A rondeau of chirping --

They even pause . . .

Await her trilled responses!

What alchemy is this, to coax

Forth sound from a head

Which cannot hear it! And

Form those exquisite notes with 

Lips butchered before birth?

The Maid Assisi, behold!

As night's cone descends like Merlin's cap

With her pink-plastic curlers

And her magic sounds,

She sings to an audience

Of feathers, beaks and claws.

The moon is snarled lonely in the boughs

And elbows of the Oak. Twig-pinched,

It nevertheless is mute

While her oscillating reverie floats free . . . 

Away away

Upon the fragile, beating bones

Of the wind's wing.

I, like the deaf moon

Am left out of it all.

Copyright 2000


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