Inspired by the poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” by Wallace Stevens
I
Hopping along the centerline of the road
each step landing, a thunk, with
more weight than possible
II
It stands looking indignant
with dark gray shoulders and a hood
the color of rain-laden clouds
III
Monitoring the goings on
from a bare branch
through tiny tangerine eyes
IV
A single sharp “caw” lending perspective
to the urban drone
of cars and of heat exchangers
V
A single sharp “caw” that disrupts
the perfect melodies of songbirds,
absolutely
VI
Standing on one foot,
head tipped to peer through one eye,
at a flat dead viper
VII
Perched on a knee-high fence,
raising and lowering its wings, shifting
from one foot to the other, attentive to each bite
of scone I take, it waits
VIII
One on each side of the road, taking turns.
In the interval between cars each bird hops to the center to have
a few hurried bites
of freshly killed kin
IX
A disarray of feathers on the ground
and nothing else. I am embarrassed
by the private light soft down
left exposed in death
X
A blustering flock of seagulls noisily harvest
the bugs brought forth by the tractor’s plow.
The jackdaw lands and they scatter.
XI
I lie in bed at dawn
in the hot heavy silence of a mounting summer rainstorm.
A lonely jackdaw calls. From far away
another calls
XII
A jackdaw moves across the sky carrying a slice of pizza, soundlessly
XIII
The jackdaw stands just at the edge of a rock pool.
I wonder,
is it looking at its own reflection, or
is it fishing for leaches?
