Mudlark No. 48 (2012)

The Birds

They get at it much earlier than we do:
toast crumbling down our lips, while they make a
mess at the feeders, sunflower shells stuck
like small black phrases between the deck’s teeth,
something we can’t really spit out, not like
downy woodpeckers hanging upside down, 
two male cardinals scouring splintery surface,
nuthatch, chickadee, titmouse, anything
with tuft and quick head, their always curved claws—
Walmart’s berry and nut mix, a noisy 
flow of millet like uncooked rice pouring
into a tea cup: as if they could wipe 
their beaks with cerise linen napkins and
praise the sunrise, the empurpled lagoon.           

John Allman | The Other Side of the Sun
Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)