poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “baby bird”

a voice that carries

it’s there
unmistakably there
like a little bird
waiting in the wings
shuddering occasionally
and whispering nonstop

even when it’s not there
it is there
but as you try to explain
to the woman in the mirror
words can’t express
what the whispers possess

windows open
as do doors
they open and shut like the
changing of the seasons

and just when you think
you’ve lost something inside
it returns in full flight
like a long-awaited echo

february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

breathing back to life

it was a shapely leaf
seemingly frozen on the asphalt
burnt orange and brown
with spots of faded yellow
and streaks of barn red

I happened upon it strictly
by accident as I crawled
on my hands and knees
searching for a place to sleep
through the dead of winter

picking it up carefully
I cupped it gently in my hands
cold to the touch like the
thinnest of glass
fragile like fairy wings

as it warmed in my palms
I blew on its outer edges
its unforgiving blades shuddering
like a little baby bird
or a big colorful butterfly

october two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Bird, Oh Baby Bird

Sitting alone in the sunroom
I closed my eyes
and felt my body warming
one bright midmorning.

Getting lost in thought
an interruption soon sounded
with a thud against glass.
I blinked open my eyes,
glanced to the left,
found myself peering
out the glass door.

Knocked out or dead
I could not tell,
but a Black-capped Chickadee
lay on his back on the deck.
Move, I thought to myself, move!
Turn your white belly over
and raise your black chin.

As I reached for the handle
the little bird shook his little body
and shook it once again.
Within half a second
he sprang to his feet,
gave me a wink,
and off he went.

march, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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