Bluejays fall calling jubilations
upon the peanuts I have
placed in a basket and hung outside
the door. Other jays descend, of course,
the loudmouths, the greedy things.
They can’t talk any more — their beaks are
jammed. Well, they’re like that all year long here
in the coastal north. Other
birds have more sense, though some not much.
Yet the jays survive, somehow, wax fat
in the snow, growing louder,
jabbering as though we understood.
has come and gone. There’s a heart
beating in the snow
which is melting. Perhaps soon
the heart will hear earth pulsing
in the rains, and it
will know its place in the world.
Perhaps not. Perhaps winter
birds beating about
the bushes at last will have
had enough, but not likely.
Meanwhile, here comes sun
just ahead of the clouds, and
who would have expected it?
photo credit James Russell