The Sparrow

Early morning

I drink coffee at the

round mosaic table

on the back porch,

ponder my secrets

and commit them to paper.

 

A sparrow with a worm

catches my eye,

perches on the metal mobile

I got from the junk store.

Flies to the wire sculpture

clanging in the mild breeze.

She darts to the wood table adjacent to mine,

the one I need to paint.

 

I return to the page

I have a deadline.

 

She begins again

seeking  my undivided attention.

I wonder why the table stop,

why the commotion.

I scan the wall,

the picture of the boat,

the planters of purple petunias.

 

Curiosity aroused

I must find out.

I set my cup down,

remain motionless,

curb my breath,

stare into her eyes,

cancel my thoughts.

 

I notice the doorknob hole

rusted and round

that needed fixing long ago

leading into the  abandoned wood shop

left in disarray and dust.

 

She flexes and struts

as the worm wiggles for survival.

Satisfied with my statue

she quiets.

Her dance complete, she

disappears into the empty hole

to her brood.

 

I stay away,

let it be.

No need to look for or find her.

I return to my elixir of cooled down blackness,

my poetry lines

in the early morning light.

 

Rachel Wright

Spectrum II

 

 



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