A Wood to Sing Through

      Our daily catbird in the parking lot,
      Half-unknowing his danger where he stood,
      Sang out eyes-shut atop a cinder block.
      A blue abandoned Cougar, its purr removed,
5     (Haunted all last night by a pregnant stray 
      Hunkering into home in her birthing mood)
      Had a dead crow's feathers like an exploded toy
      Puffed from under a moveless wheel hoved tight,
      Feeding what must come, at most, in a day.
10    Obliquely by her belly kept from being quite upright,
      In cotton fog half-obscuring our shared world,
      The mottled cat sat motionless on one stripe.
      The catbird's territory song searched vacant grounds
      That should have had a wood to sing through,
15    Not learned to be inured to all our sounds.
      I wondered how I'd feel with the catbird shooed,
      Mother-cat nursing uncurled by the curb,
      Patched kittens purling dust just where he flew.
      Silent in the silence man-made things disturb,
20    The cat, too quick for me to see, pounced once,-
      And the catbird, leapt to asphalt eaves, sang on.

 

From the collection "Assembling the Earth"

Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]

More information available on gregglory.com.