I behold the slate-colored juncos
landing beneath the feeder, trace
the droppings of mice cracking
my house open as crickets grieve.
Into the evening I step to catch
sassafras hands the colors of wild
strawberries, dandelions, orange
sunsets, as if God threw confetti
to celebrate this day. The sun
loses some of its power.
The rain no longer drips from
branches forsaken by their leaves.
Their wrists thin as winter, thin
as my mother’s. Her voice now
a loose trill of song fading into
brown-needled trees. Feeding
on the ground, the juncos take
what falls to them.
Jacalyn Shelley has been widely published in journals and anthologies such as Sugar House Review, and Welcome to the Resistance: Poetry as Protest. She’s been nominated for three Pushcart prizes. Jackie participates in poetry readings in Atlantic City. Read more at JacalynShelley.com.
