The Wagtail Tree

 

There is a tree in our town

which every night fills

with a cloud of wagtails.

 

We stand in the cold air

and look up at the branches.

A hundred small bodies perch in silence:

 

fragile, wild, all facing the same way.

A chain of bulbs is strung around the tree

uplighting their pale breasts, long tails.

 

This when my mother lies sleeping through

her last Christmas; my life has a split screen

with her face and memories of past times,

 

hanging decorations, her hands

clipping a silver wagtail to a branch

…this was mine when I was small

 

and every evening, the birds come back

to roost, and every morning

there is life to be embraced.

by Rose Cook

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s