I wish they would nest in my tree, would not just gather but deposit, sticks and snippets of grass and brush, weedy remnants and debris. I wish they would create a ramble shack platform to spill a new generation of raucousness around me.
A nest would validate my home, it would say, yes, this is a good place—a place with resources, insight, position. I wish they would not just eat my food or drink my water. I want them to glide in and out with purpose, possess the bubble of homeness that I call mine and remind me that I am only a squatter.
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Oaks Bottom, Portland OR
creative non-fiction :: poetry :: design :: sustainability
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Thistle and fly
Oaks Bottom, Portland OR
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About Me
- Deb
- I'm interested in the natural world and creative arts and especially where they intersect.
5 comments:
This is beautiful.
This made me smile. We had chickadees nest in one of our prickly bushes one year and we felt just like that; proud, tickled, like it made our little plot of home more worthy somehow.
This is definitely my favorite of your three pieces - it seems so non sequitor but isn't - this is one of my favorite things about prose poems: they seem to be about something random, but in the end, circle back quite nicely to make a sound meaning. I also realyl adore your nest imagery. Very nicely done.
This is such a nice piece. You really captured something I've thought, but never uttered, that feeling of proud ownership, of puffed breast-edness at the arrival of birds at your home. You really do feel honored that they have chosen you. Thanks for this.
I LOVE this! This is my favorite kind of poem... Beautiful and ethereal! Thank you!
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