• andrew jeter

Field Notes, March 31, 2020

(from the Early Bird napowrimo prompt: write a poem about your favorite bird.)

If there is a bird that darts,

flits and fros, zigs, pops, jumps,

or appears ink-drop on white linen,

around the trunk and on wobbling limb,

it is the period-on-a-page

Black-capped Chickadee.


I see him in his industry, flitting

from twig to feeder—over

their entire world non-stop—

a Saturday market of popping

peppercorn people, the zip and vigor

of their portly selves.


I look at them from my now glassed-in

back porch as the dark clouds roil overhead

and think, “No, they

will never stay still, never get in from

the storm. That would be

unbelievable. Inconceivable.”



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