I have affinity for birdsong
otherworldly though it be…
a peacock’s shrieking promenade,
or owl’s chill whooo at dusk.
I plant sunflowers…
to lure mockingbirds
whose themes and variations
will lull me through long nights.
I hang thistle seed from branches
so goldfinches will charm me
with avian libretti through blue-sky summer days.
They trill a foreign language
between the house and barn,
and chirp choruses from pine boughs
as I…silent and earth-grounded…
savor purchased company.
Know the Word//Think the Thought
The child refers to them as budas…
bud…pronounced like flower bud.
For me they are matryoshkas…
Russian nesting dolls.
Yet, her three year mind and mouth
to navigate those words,
so that’s what the dolls will be…
for now…what she says…budas,
wherever she heard that.
She sits intent…cross-legged
on the kitchen floor
twists backs to fronts…
turns the largest skirt-half
into a bowl to feed kibble to her cat.
My mind wanders…buda…Buddha…
to consider Russian Buddhist monks.
The imagined culture clash
scratches at my thinking.
I must have sighed.
She reached to hand me
the foundation doll…
that did resemble quite
an India Buddhist statue.
I longed to read her thought.
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