Tragic Magic

I wait, camera ready
Patient as stone
For her to return

The blue, of her name
Coats three speckled
Magic orbs

The sky breaks aflutter
She shapes a world
To plump body

I twitch; she disappears
Clacks and cracks
burst to life

The clutch, altricial horrors
She hunts and returns
to nourish

Quick clicks, intent to capture
Death and life entwined
Becoming one

In growth, patient negotiation
Hidden hope
To witness flight

The loss, complete disappearance
Tragic magic
The attack in blissful blindness

Today’s poem was inspired by yesterday’s revelation that a robin rebuilt the nest I watched last year. After the chicks had hatched and begun to grow feathers, the nest was attacked and one of the chicks was left dead at the base of the Camellia bush under my office window.

Part of me is excited to see the eggs again, watch them hatch, and take pictures of the momma bird feeding grubs and worms to her young (it’s somehow beautiful in all its gore and horror). But then part of me wants to scare the bird away and destroy the nest and spare the bird from the inevitable cruelty of nature.

I’m also thinking about birds because I’m going to see Anne Lamott, author of Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. I’m looking forward to an evening of inspiration.

I started a story about ornithologists a while back. It’s about identity and specificity causing difficulties in relationship. I think I’ll try to finish it up this week.

If you like birds and want to learn more about ornithology, you may want to check out Essential Ornithology and The Bird Watching Answer Book: Everything You Need to Know to Enjoy Birds in Your Backyard and Beyond (Cornell Lab of Ornithology).

Happy Reading and Writing!

See you tomorrow.