Coarsened survivor of the cage-bird trade,
morning finds you earth-bound, the color
of chimney smoke, set upon gables, fence-
posts and overhead wires where you are
best able to see how day’s loneliness falls
away, clouds softly settle upon the canopy
and leaves brighten in a flood of afternoon
light that’s cascading down roof lines and
garden trellises and now, weeks removed
from when you first heard them, you release
a warm aching of rehearsed chords and
abbreviated notes, as if, despite your best
efforts, the language of the heart remains
something elusive and difficult to master.
Mockingbird by John Muro is an amazing poem. As a bird owner and lover of birds everyday we exchange sounds, whistles and words. As me and my birds age and I realize the bloom is gone, my best years behind me, I treasure each day I can communicate with my 2 birds and African Grey and a parakeet. I treasure in my heart their “baby days” and when they interact with other people…for a moment,,, we are amazed at the wonder of life. John Muro takes you to that place!