An Anarchy of Anguish

by | Jul 18, 2021 | Meg Tuite July Day 2

its own living thing
vast and disparate as the kingdom
of birds

and you only left behind
your dog-eared Audubon’s

I identify the loss by the
flutey voice of those small-bodied
flutterers that weigh nothing
for their hollow bones

My dreams grackle me awake
with the frantic monkey chatter
of the lesser auks we saw
from the prow of the ship

It was so cold you gave me
your shawl

Sunrise greets my bed with
crow’s necromancy chant

The jays carry on parallel lives
to my hens so I forget they are forged
in the same feathery mold

but how they might fight
for the same grubs

I have read
that insects make up half the weight
of all alive things on earth. We a fraction
of that. Then to account for grief

something so heavy only a hummingbird’s
tenth of an ounce. Physics’ spooky
action at a distance. And when
we’re only half alive we weigh
only that much

I crave your soft nightgowned weight
animating your rocking chair

Your looking glass sits by it still.
So still even the whipoorwhil
quiets its seeking in the dark

My grief is a swift
on the wing all the time.
Ten months the record
and I might break it yet

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