The birds are flicking in and out
from our pollen-streaked window as I sit
sidelined with a foot that won’t go
anywhere. We are told to count the number of bodies
by species for science—and I do. Lovingly
watch from my perch, a chair so strained
by the weight of a one-legged body sinking
hard into support, that one of its own
legs gives a little more each time, etching
maze-like into the hardwood floor resembling
the work of the Emerald Ash Borer.
I have lost count of the sparrows,
both white throated and song, that visit.
I’ve always told whoever will listen,
let me grow old watching the birds
and I’ll be content. A family joke now,
Mom could survive in a cardboard box
behind the house and she’d be happy.
My husband asks, “Want me to help
you outside?” when I can’t lift my head
from the sofa. Unable to lure me, he baited
the feeders. I clocked the tides—watching
the river flow backwards into its larger body,
as the birds flocked back into frame.
–
Jenna Villforth Veazey (she/her) is the founder of Poetry on the Trail, an installation of poems along nature trails in Virginia. Her most recent work can be found in the Virginia edition of the Writing the Land project. When not writing, she enjoys attempting to both paint and paddle from the water.