Her songs assail first light.
Fluent, they flourish among the rooftops
and chimneys, unsettle early morning
sleep. Pausing among night’s tangle of sheets
to unravel my mind’s many knots, I am caught up.
Caught up in birdsong
and questions. Mimus polyglottus, bird of multiple
languages. Of starling, of finch, of thrush. Wishing
I too could speak in tongues, mimic the perfect
love song. Make you believe all over again.
Make you stay
and rouse the dawn with me. Our song rising
to gables and ridges where the bird
roosts and cries out her refrain. And after,
sharing what waking rituals we dare,
fearful we love too deeply.
But now I survey my landscape. Blue cup
with broken handle, oatmeal bowl alone
on the drainboard, a single spoon. The tea pot
whistles its solitary note, steam clouds the room.
I decipher morning sky
leaning into mystery and caution. Beyond my kitchen
window, the light greys, tinges my garden. The rake leans
against the shed. When I open my mouth to sing,
a silent mockingbird escapes.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 3.
Robbin Farr is a poet and writer of brief lyric nonfiction. She is the founding editor of River Heron Review and a retired high school English and creative writing teacher of twenty-three years. Her work appears in Cleaver, Citron Review, The MacGuffin, and elsewhere. She is the author of Become Echo (2023) and Transience (2018), and writes the Substack 10 poetry notebooks. She is most comfortable in revision. Writing terrifies her.
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