The Mimics of a Lifetime

The weight of a catbird
in its final sleep
too close to the road
is surprisingly heavy,
as if all of her songs —
the whistles and whines
the cheeps and chirps
the mimics of a lifetime —
are stored within
her feathers
so soft to the touch.
I pray my long gentle strokes,
my whispered comforts,
might wake her
to forage with her chicks
once more
and I stay hopeful
for fifty-one steps
until I lay her, quiet, still
in the cool soft moss
of the shaded yard,
where the stalwart maple
keeps eternal watch.

IMAGE: Gray Catbird (Dumetella carolinensis) at the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University, Boston, Massachusetts, United States.Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.