This one is for the mothers.
When God is a Bird
The feeders out back
bring more color this month—
goldfinches blossoming from
marsh-like greeny gray
to forsythia yellow,
a red-winged blackbird
flashing flamboyant shoulder pads.
House finches arrive wearing vests
smattered with rubies
as if they’d been playing with paints—
which is what I long to do, too,
with my days,
weary as I am
with turning myself inside out
to meet the needs
of everyone else
in my slowing orbit.
But I digress.
I always do.
What I came here to tell you
is the way mourning doves
fill my heart
with an unreasonable gladness,
how their small heads
complement their larger bodies
in nonsensical ways.
The dun tone
of their feathers
seems to gentle open
an incision in my chest—
bloodless, painless,
and something astonishingly hopeful
slips inside
to softly cloak my heart
which has been chilled by the events
of our human-infested world.
It feels like
comfort,
relief,
desire
to sleep
and rise again,
do my work gratefully,
make crumbs
from bread that is not yet stale,
go scattering it in flowery patterns
across the borders
of my neighbors yards.
–Melinda Coppola
Lovely sharing. Thank you