Indigo Bunting
June 1 2013


A rare bird
appeared this spring.
My neighbour's feeder,
where squirrels steal in

all twitchy stops, liquid speed.

And underneath 

patchy lawn,

killed-off 

by spilled seed
generations of guano.

They were ravenous
after a long hard winter,
the small familiar birds
who dart in-and-out
on acrobatic wings.

Who all seem dull and grey
and leave me indifferent;
although, in a birdless world
I know I would miss them.
Perhaps not realize why, exactly,
except the quiet empty sky
would surely seem alien;
dangerous, even.

The cat, who is lazy and fat
eyes them warily,
predatory instinct
still intact.
In her coiled crouch, she stalks,
tail stiff, tongue flicking
eyes, darting quickly,
as coolly intense
as the born killer

she is.
While the dogs
pay no attention at all,
grounded animals
content with their place.

The rare bird was blue, iridescent
and unexpected
this far north.
The feeder tipped and swayed, with his weight
as he leisurely fed
all by himself.
While all the plain local birds
kept their distance;
even the squirrels deferred.

He was beautiful
and all of us noticed.
But in mating season
he will find himself alone,
a barren year
of fruitless searching.

He briefly appeared,
the rare bird
whom we admire
who brightens our lives.
The object of desire,
when all he seeks

is home.

True story.

I refrain from naming any of the other birds; since it's also true that I know nothing at all about birds, and generally pay no attention. …Although I assume it would be safe to say warblers, or sparrows; chickadees, perhaps?

However, I did do the minimal research necessary even for poetry (which, after all, makes no claim to literal truth) and found out that only the males are blue. I had originally written for a female bird; which works far better with “barren” and “fruitless”.  But, for the sake of accuracy (and to silence the nit-pickers!), I’ll leave it as is, and accept the less evocative allusion. In the same vein, I considered “magnificent” instead of “beautiful”. But I think the latter is a more visceral word, and gets closer to love than mere admiration. The more masculine “magnificent” may be regal, but “beautiful” seems more vulnerable. …I am still undecided.

It may be taking a liberty with the truth, however, to anthropomorphize the unusual visitor. Are birds capable of feeling loneliness and longing? But the double entendre of "rare bird" does get closer to truth. I often feel like a "rare bird" myself (most of us at some time or another feel that way, I suspect; but then some of us really are true eccentrics, rare birds!); occasionally afflicted with the same sense of isolation and exceptionalism as I imagine would an indigo bunting, this far north.