The Names of Birds
My mother and the birds:
we watch them at the feeder.
I call out their names.
Look mom! The blue jay’s back!
That one! she says. That one!!
And the red-headed woodpecker–
Such a big…nose thing…
Yes, he has a long beak. And there are the
chickadees, the little nuthatches
and the turtledoves, grey and homely
their sound all the beauty they own.
Then the red-winged blackbird – Mom, look!
They’re a sign of spring.
That will never – she says….
Oh yes, my love. And the robin too. It will come. You will see it.
All the names she has forgotten
I recite like a litany: a prayer to the birds, distinct and various
as the language slipping away.
Good bye to wingéd words.
I say the names of birds; she does not repeat them.
Nor do I ever hear the name I own.
About the Author: Paula Reed Nancarrow’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Ballast, Hole in the Head Review, and Book of Matches, among other journals. She is a past winner of the Sixfold Poetry Prize and her poems have been nominated for Sunrise Publications’ Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Find her at paulareednancarrow.com.
Image Credit: Public domain image originally from La galerie des oiseaux. Paris, Constant-Chantpie,1825-1826. Courtesy of the Biodiversity Heritage Library.
As It Ought To Be 