"What Will the Birds Eat?"

As many of you may recall, we had a tough winter. On January 10, snowed in, I was trying to figure out how the little bird, perched on the icy branch outside my window, got so fat. Then, I read about how they puff themselves up, when it's arctic cold, to insulate themselves. So, here's my little bird poem:

Honorable Mention in The 2014 Contemporary American Poetry Prizes and first published in Journal of Modern Poetry 17 (June 2014), Chicago Poetry Press

Wearing a foot of snow

like a high white top hat

on his naked-wood thatched roof,

the little birdhouse,

now aslant,

surrenders

to the glistering

stillness

of our backyard.

The feeder is secured,

dangling in the dip of the iron

shepherd’s staff.

This is what the birds see

when they search for seed.

One ambitious cardinal, puffing

herself up like a tiny beach ball,

hunkers down

on the icy

snow covered branch

beside the pole.

She catches me

making out

her yellowish-tan feathers

and dazzling orange beak

through the window.

Eyes lowered,

breath held,

I about-face

with as much stealth

as I can muster

Don't fly away. Please, please stay.

After a moment, I steal a look back.

Only her eyes move.

Denise C. Buschmann