June 17, 2011 § Leave a comment
The red-winged blackbird didn’t move
from his perch on the wooden post,
even though I walked steadily and
my dog ran away and back for tennis balls.
Down over the hill, across the water
and the marshes, others of his kind
balanced on the tops of reeds.
“Aren’t you afraid, fellow?”
I finally had to ask him, when I stood only a foot
away, admiring the creases of his feathers.
He unfolded and resettled himself,
the red shoulders flashing.
Then he spread his wings wide,
but the pause had been long enough
for me to know what he meant.
I live here.
I watched him fly down to the marshes,
where the light faded into blue and shade.
Then we walked on, dog and person,
tossing the tennis ball like two children
in the neighbors’ big backyard.