Nesting

Nesting

After beating my wings,
hurling them
in the face of some sun
or some moon,
I fall back, exhausted,
into these branches, these arms
you have been holding out to me
from the start.

At first I bristled my feathers,
trembled high up
on the spindliest twig,
let one eye sleep at a time.

But you, blossoming around me,
thatching a green roof over my head,
coaxed me down
to sturdier boughs.

I'm settling in now,
gathering string,
weaving a nest,
singing songs.

by Sarah Fairchild, © 1985 Sarah Fairchild, Lincoln, Nebraska,, USA

~ ~ ~

Note:
→ © Sarah Fairchild (1985)

→ The third poem in her thesis Salt Valley Seasons.

→ Published in Plainsongs, fall, 1990, volume 11, number 1

→ This poem is about our courtship.

→ In the January 1991 issue of Plainsongs, she published this poem, but the line:

into these branches, these arms

was split into two as:

into these branches,

these arms