Bird News
Cynthia Hardy
A thump against the cabin wall.
I find the body, palm-sized,
warm yet, on the porch.
One eye glistens,
the beak open.
Someone says,
"If a bird flies in your window
he's come to tell
good news." But, if the bird dies,
and the news is never spoken?
Or spoken late,
words of comfort
flung against a window
they can’t pass through?
I see your mouth move,
like bird wings:
the news shatters as it flies.
As children we
filed into halls
nestled among coats and boots,
our heads between our knees
cradled by our arms.
We recited the bad news
silently. The skies shone clear
and empty. The worst threat--
one not seen--comes
in joyous blue.
All we love can vanish,
empty as the sky.
I lay the bird on a clump of moss.
Next time, I say,
there will be no window glass.
Next time the bird flies in
free and clear,
singing.
This poem was written in response to the statement quoted in the poem. I was surprised at where the poem turned, and then, that the poem was published in the Heartland section of the Fairbanks Daily News Miner in 1986 (when they regularly published poetry). This poem was also published in my collection Beneath a Portrait of a Horse (Salmon Poetry, Ireland, 2010).
CINDY HARDY writes from Chena Ridge, Fairbanks, Alaska. She has published poetry and fiction, teaches occasionally, rides horses, and gardens all summer.