In the blackbird garden--
with every delight for agelaius phoenicius--
the sunken reed marsh,
the pretty stone fountain,
and the many hanging feeders filled with sunflowers--
we sat relaxing as the red wings called.
The ground ivy was thick around our green Adirondack chairs.
I need one place, you know,
in this world to feel safe and at peace.
You were so calm, so matter-of-fact,
and the thing you mentioned so trivial,
I wondered why you were shitting me about it.
The sun stayed stuck in the sky, behind the branches of the mulberry,
but I felt a shiver as a red wing landed near the ground cover.
It has always been a little buggy there in summer,
but we have citronella
and the blackbirds--
so pretty, so much my beloved favorites,
but from another, smaller perspective (as I imagine),
huge, sudden, and completely terrifying.