Saturday February 12, 2011

Flurries. The chittering call of a Cooper’s hawk; the small birds continue feeding. A strangled cry. Finally, the jay calls like a jay.

3 Comments


  1. Landscape, with Mockingbird and Ripe Figs

    Like a wren, like an oriole, like the quail–
    there’s the mockingbird improvising in the grass.
    Chittering call of a Cooper’s hawk, jay that calls
    and calls until his double answers. Who
    hears my voice crying out in the middle of the day,
    who knows to tell the echo from its answer?
    The Japanese beetles have gored open
    the sides of figs velveting the tree.
    You picked my hair clean of shadows.
    You dropped little stones in the beaker
    so the water rose and I could drink.
    Sweet smell of clover, sweet-fingered fruit
    ripening to rot upon the sill.
    Above the sheets, a spider couples
    with its prey. In their eyes’ prismed glass,
    our limbs bond into brittle sugar.
    That isn’t steam beneath the ceiling.
    Outside, small birds continue feeding.
    A strangled cry. Finally, the jay calls like a jay.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    02 12 2011



  2. These responses like what provokes them are marvelous and moving. Another book? Please.

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