JOHANNA writes:

Lately, all I want to hear or read is good news and despite all the seeming evidence to the contrary there is plenty around as your essay demonstrates so well. I love birds (and butterflies) as well and have written many poems about them. I thought you might appreciate one of them.

And I don’t even like Grackles

I’ve turned over every leaf — two days
gone without a sighting. My first

glimpse was of a single puddle
on the leaf-littered lawn, a black

puff spread on a dew-jeweled
table. Each cock of its head drew

a new shade of satin. Half buried
beside one of the boulders that circle

the shedding maple, it was taking
all that the sun had to give. For the next

few days I watched it journey back
and forth from the feeder’s fallen

grain to the shelter of drooping
Hosta planted within the rocky

perimeter. Each day multiplied,
subtracted more energy. Its shallow

flying disappeared altogether.The weaker
it became, the closer I got. He never

lost his sheen, its iridescence. The round
yellow of his eyes saw the future;

his scissored beak stabbed the air.
I got close enough to cup my hands

and lift him into the makeshift hospital
carton but his terror sent me back inside.

Not one of his kind ever came
near. My last glimpse of him

was in a dream – we were airborne,
growing ever smaller.

[Edited: The second line of each verse is supposed to be indented. But I can’t seem to do that on this platform.]

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