Marilyn BaszczynskiGarrulous goldfinches bicker
by the feeders, vie for visibility
among females fluttering on the deck rail.
Like bright yellow sunflowers
tossed in summer wind,
their gold flecks fascinate.
With keen black eye, one intrepid male
watches me sip my coffee,
flaps next to me, clings to the narrow
ledge outside. I freeze.
He flies off then swoops back
at the window pane,
bounces off, and throws
himself at it again, willing to die
in his attempt to break in.
By the time I jump up
to scare him away it’s too late.
His little body lies motionless
on the patio below.
I go outside. A trickle of blood
from his beak. I look up at glass
bearing the imprint of wings
and bits of feathers.
Such deceit, that window,
reflecting some offer
of shelter and food, the shimmer
stirring a desire for adventure
and determination to never give up.
Then I see it—peeking out
from beside the begonia
on the table by my reading chair,
the kitschy yellow bird statue.
What Do You Think?
Stay up to date with the latest from MUSED