The cardinal watches me

through the kitchen window, 

reddish-brown breast, 

orange tuft and beak, 

hooded-eyes fathoms deep.

She stares into the glass, 

begging answers to my question:

Where, sweet bird, is your 

handsome life-mate 

of last summer?

Now, it’s pouring outside.

Gray dusk seeps into the house,

sinks the surrounding woods.

The cardinal stands alone

soaked on the lacquered railing.

She has given up on me. 

Though silent, I feel her strain.

We search the treetops  

through the dying light

and cold, cold rain.

****

An earlier version of At the Feeder was published in The Avalon Literary Review, Spring, 2019.

Categories: Poetry, Selection: 2019