Birds

A poem should always have birds in it,

the poet said. And
A person wants to stand in a happy place
in a poem.

My poems are often full of birds.
But they are having a hard time out-shouting
the black-hearted rhetoric spewing
from my tv screen,
that makes my heart sink
and forget how to sing.

How can we stand in a happy place
in the poem of our lives
while stormtroopers are beating
and firing upon peaceful citizens,
and veterans and mothers?
While people are abusing animals
and hating each other?
Where the world is in survival mode
and has forgotten how to be kind?

I can tell you that, down by the shore,
herons are picky-toe-ing peacefully
along the mudflats.
I can point out the eagle, surveying
his kingdom from the top of a scrag.
I can show you my balcony
full of chattering jays
and swift little hummers,
all living in blessed ignorance
of the weight we humans are carrying.

Bless them.
When we look up for a moment
to track their heartlifting passage
across the sky,
we remember what it once was
to dream.

inspired by "Singapore" by Mary Oliver. The italicized lines are hers.