Rose petals rain down in the morning sun
Does the mother bird know…
What a sweet-smelling home she builds in the tree?
Does the 12-foot rose tree know…
It is supposed to be a bush?
We have endured a week of rain for such a day
The bird is one of those pesky jays.
But now it is just an expectant mother.
She wove her bowl of twigs high
Among soft flowers, guarded by large thorns.
A train whistles, stirring memories, clearing its path
Did mama bird intentionally choose that side…
That stretches over the silky lambs’ ear?
Was she planning ahead,
Imagining her child’s first flight?
A dove’s plaintive coo is cut off by a crow’s caw
Mother Jay flies to the peak of a nearby roof
And surveys backyards, looking for threats,
For food sources near enough, but not too near
She flaps her wings, shaking off forebodings.
A warm wind brings a shower of pink petals
Mother Jay tilts her head, seems to look at me
Does she know we are one?
Two mothers surveying the surroundings
Giving thanks for the sun?
by Ann Hutchinson 5/2/2017