I warned you against hanging that bird feeder there on the front porch
It'll be a mess of bird shit and seed shells
Footprints in the snow; dusty husks of empty seeds
But every day for a week you looked at the feeder and she looked at the hook
And finally one day you'd stopped at the A&P for seed
and there was the feeder hanging over the porch rail
Goldfinches and swallows jostling for position
The cat inside the window drooling
Paw prints up and down the freezing panes
I'd sweep every day but it really doesn't make a dent
So I ignore it
Now here it is Spring and here I am scrubbing
A few pilgrim finches darting past, investigating
I talked to William next door while I scrubbed
His son is in the war; he asked for prayers
I heard Jules' faint guitar across the street playing Roundabout
The mail lady's cocoa- butter scented curves
reminded me of Truro in July
The seals babyish cries in the sunset
Of all the things your Mother left you
I think this feeder is my favorite

Posted Friday, February 11th 2011