While Trying to Think of Something to Write About
The first mockingbird of the season
is winging it in a star pine
on my back hill. I imagine northern
songbirds gather in some South American
jungle for a winter sing-along
and California mockingbirds stop by
to add a few of this year's numbers.
Their mock repertoire pours through my open
door: robin's spring announcement,
a gurgle-trill from redwing blackbirds
that cling to cattails thick in shallow waters
familiar from my former life two thousand miles ago,
five repeating notes from a Peruvian flute
and background music for kabuki theater.
