“Hope” is the thing with feathers
--- EMILY DICKINSON
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42889/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-314
the little Bird watching at the kitchen window we saw a spring sleek crow land on the rotting birdhouse where sparrows yearly build their nests our new cat shivered and stuttered on the sill with electricity as the big black bird levered a curved bill into the crack at the back of the house to shred the nest spray it over the new lawn the crow cawed and cracked massive wings before plunging again into the tender bed silent we watched an egg slip down its gullet then another while little brown birds fluttered and chirped on the wires in the cedars along the fence helpless I think I said something like the circle of life is brutal before I turned away to finish making lunch
Suggested soundtrack: Wagner.
