Caught on a stoop rail is a bundle-gift
of seeds and leaves
hand-woven into a grass basket by birds, a thank you,
I think, for years of lugging
seed to the feeders—millet, black-oil, sunflower, nyjer,
a little milo. They
are only guessing but the gesture is noted. Whole
corn, I’m told, is favored by wild
turkeys, ducks, and uncles, cracked corn by doves, quail,
and sparrows, peanuts
by a beer-gutted guy at the ball park. Macadamia
nuts are favored
by the Johnstons next door; the feedings, an operation
of waltz steps, lace and loops,
peaking upward, swooping numerically into a toe-shoed flederslap,
a straw bear at Wittlesea, a time spliced,
or rather, a surpliced choirboy as a pew carving, delicate
stallwork in tree
restaurants of peculiar design, one, like a bucketed apron skirt,
another like a pagoda. Then, a neighborhood dog
bawls at the day moon with outré animation scattering up
with his loud and yapping, sending our dinners pirouetting into
the sky’s frozen tears.
Fed By Birds first appeared in Scythe Literary Journal, Winter, 2010
Listen to Fed by Birds in Winter
Photo by Shannan Raider
© 2010-2012 Grace Curtis
Thank you! I am glad you enjoyed it.
this reads beautifully like a mouth full of small sweet marbles.
Hahahaha! Thank you Marcus, I think. Or perhaps, I should say, Great! That was the effect I was hoping to achieve.
Thank you, Kathleen!
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