Butcherbird in the Tuart Gums
Some days I carry a heavy weight
in a hessian bag that it's hard to get
through the trees.
Other days I'm careful to make room
under feet so that I'm not crushing leaf
litter where an anchored world lives.
The butcherbird carries the self much
lighter than a hessian bag full of stones
and can be heard singing in the Tuart
gums near my street. It seems this songbird
is not weighed down with heavy thoughts,
but rises each morning, remembering
the notes of a Bellini or Rossini opera. At
dawn she rises, practising her repertoire
like Maria Callas, similar to her bel canto,
the dramatic, wide-ranging rise and fall
of her throat, the beautiful trilling of her
voice as a Violetta in La Traviata.
Yesterday in the Tuart gums, I caught
sight of the bird again, a moth in her beak,
amongst the heavy stones, her tail waggling.
0 comments:
Post a Comment