They do not worry.
About food.
They do not worry.
About clothes.
They aren't afraid.
Of being abandoned.
They know.
God will take care of them.
They know.
Their Creator will feed them.
They know.
The One who cares for them
will never forsake them.
They know.
His eye is ever upon them.
Oh, may I learn how to live.
From watching the birds.

I am lonely for you
Which is strange to me,
I do not love you
I don't want your mouth on mine
I don't want your hand on my back
I do not wish we could be together
I do not wonder about the future
  (or try to draw you into it with a charcoal pencil)
But I am lonely for you
I want you, want you, truly, as my friend
But not very close,
I like to keep my distance until I decide
  to give permission
Maybe I will ask you
What you think of kelp
And myths
And a thousand other things
And still I will not know
You see!
I am not lonely for you for a while
And then I think
That I like your jokes
And I wish you could tell me one now
I could use a laugh

I am a beginning and I am an end
I am a stream of consciousness and
I am my own lack of surprise
Manifested into a walking horrorshow wondering
where it went wrong.
Watching the birdwatchers checking for watches
They know no time with enough patience to share
Little smiles of knowing more than you
The ones who found what they were looking for
in the trees and canopies and little handbooks and scientific names
Flightless birds waiting to be classified

Tiny shadows litter the sky
filling the horizons
circling around each other
fighting for a better view of the setting sun

as i stare outside my window,
gazing at the birds overhead,
dreams plague my mind
of what it would be like
to fly towards the sun
with no limitations,
just me
and the wind in my wings
chasing the light
that illuminates my soul

little birds
all yellow mouths
and hunger

chirp with needful bellies
keeping the olds
in frantic motion
to  silence the calamitous cries

you are the show of the day
for the half grown, well fed instinct
that sits on the other side of the window ledge
eyes wide, ears forward, poised to leap
he watches trembling, with adrenaline
filled need to hunt, years of
domestication be ******
he is tiger, you are prey

at least till the door to the
refrigerator opens.....

i’m sitting scrolling through Instagram taking a 5 minute brain break from my grad class work
about urban education policy which breaks my heart
because education policy and initiatives in urban school districts don’t take into account
poverty
unsafe living conditions
mom working 3 jobs just to put food on the table and keep the lights on
violence
drugs
all of which are exacerbated by the pandemic we’re in right now

all i need is 5 minutes to escape from that
but as i scroll
all i can see is
******
death
sadness
rage

another unarmed back man was murdered by white cops
another cry of “i can’t breathe”
another child died of starvation
another plane crashed
another trans woman of color was murdered
another kid committed suicide
another animal was shot so someone could have bacon for breakfast
another black man was harassed by a white woman while birdwatching in the park
another woman was beaten by her husband while quarantined together

all i need is 5 minutes
to escape the
******
death
sadness
rage
that’s everywhere

i’m just tired
everything i’ve seen today has broken my heart
everything i saw yesterday broke my heart
and the day before that
and the day before that
and the day before that

how can i help make change if i’m so **** tired all the time?

how many last words are there?

I don’t mean to suggest
my weapon
is heavy.  

before every meal
a voice tells me
in its best
voice
impression

that some bombs
don’t
go off.  this means eat.  

bait is a bird from a brother’s birdwatching dream.

it is sad like seeing a fetus
in the dark
is sad.

have we failed to water god?

A robin’s nest was in the holly bush last week
At almost eye level, I had an intimate view
Into the life of a baby bird
Pink, frail and wanting
These small, translucent creatures
Waking ,sleeping,  eating
Had everything they needed to survive
But did not know yet how to live
I would clutch my hands in delight
At their tiny outstretched necks, their barely formed beaks
Open, seeking, receiving
I giggled at how very wide their mouths seemed
I oohed and ahhed at their desperation
To be nourished, how mom went
back and forth
Back and forth
For hours to find the food from a hidden source
I woke early the next day
Having planned all my errands around birdwatching
I got excited thinking how I would watch these babies grow
I went outside, I hunkered down
But momma Robin never came

have you ever heard
about the waxwing
wanderer
who took the road less traveled
plan B was their plan A
who flew too close too the moon
whose brittle-body and obsidian feathers
shook and shattered
and thus concluded their flight
good night, good morning

standing in the limelight
sunspots on a clear day
shining, sliding, sneaking its squint
onto my skin, myself, my soul
museum piece, masterfully, meticulously
dished, dealt onto a display
every patch, pore, pixel screaming
"look at me, look at me"

I cried to the mirror
blinded by the blankness
the lack of a reply, a darkroom
let me develop, let me see the light of day
let me be blinded by the bright
let me be lost in the high of my life,
let the leaves of the sun flutter on my skin
let me be burned by the moonshine
let this waxwing free of this cage
let me shatter in the moonlight

and the little bird *** away into the brush
It’s wingtips gilded in a dash of gold glimmer
no applause, no curtains close, no limelight, just
an uneventful birdwatching concluded