tenuous

it may feel

tenuous

so much of this seems predicated on phantom 1s, zeroes, grids & presidents

remember what is true, what is real

a deer ambling into the bramble of an overgrown blueberry patch
at last light
a trail of fireflies sparkling behind her like a golden bridal veil

there are deer, there are fireflies, there are blueberries, still

children around your table, grandchildren or a dog underfoot
cotton and wool
flint, boots,
a cache of seeds, oils, a pantry full of grains and beans, bundles of dried herbs, a cellar of roots
a deep well, a spring, or a stream and some vessels
steel, wood, stone, charcoal
pictographs, petroglyphs

cell-deep stories

strings, drums, flutes

a few poems — memorized, recited, improvised

hands near your own as you
birthe, work, live, fight, grieve, survive — and then die

and right now, in this exact moment

Continue reading “tenuous”

imprint

be careful,
some, caution:

there’s risk
they may imprint on you
and never fledge

be careful,
i, caution:

there’s risk
i may imprint on you
you may imprint on me

and one day, we will know
severed skies / severed from each other

you will fly, and, i will stay

yet, we will never fully-fledge
from
the acute nourishment, the acute hunger

from the enduring gravity

of
each other

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proof of life | awkward family fotos


a suspension

of borrowed time & life


recipe and method for feeding a baby starling

recipe:

one-half of a medium-boiled large egg, super finely diced

3-4 sardines canned in water, with all the bones and skin, gingerly rinsed under a thin stream of tap water, to remove excess salt, laid atop a paper towel
to passively drain the water,
then, finely chopped

mash sardines and egg together,
then slowly add up to 1 teaspoon of unsweetened organic apple sauce,

the mash should be integrated and mostly smooth
but not too wet or runny


store in sealed glass container refrigerated for no more than 2.5 days

(increase to whole boiled egg and full can of sardines and extra applesauce — and increase mash chunkiness as bird grows)

to feed:

fill a plastic drinking straw with the food,
by pumping the straw up and down into the mash with suction

warm the filled straw in hand while wearing a disposable glove to bring the mash close to room temperature

gently but quickly eject tubes/ribbons of mash into baby bird’s mouth as she gapes for food - like toothpaste on toothbrush almost; it’s daunting at first; she is so demanding! so loud! so urgent!
so hungry!

she will stop gaping when full

wash straw and reuse
(DQ & Five Guys straws are wide, flexible and work best)

repeat feeding every half hour, then eventually every hour or so, about 300 times over the course of next three weeks

to thrive:

during that time create and whistle to her a short, 3-4 note, unique song to recognize your voice

love her, talk to her,
encourage her, comfort her,
and hold her, carry her outside to see the world she will soon enter

also during that time: bring her small worms, slugs and insects to taste and/or eat / you will need to manually reduce them to be digestible for her, at first

then teach her to forage and hunt for them herself; she will use her beak as a shovel to unearth them and poke at and sever them with her beak
;
watch her back while she’s busy doing this - be her wingman!

she will teach herself to bathe and sun, fluff, dry and preen


one day she will hop, sputter-fly into the grass, into the garden; into the bramble or tall grasses

then, she will fly and soar - high into the trees, beyond your reach, sight or protection

you will worry about predators and bird bullies, weather, machines, injury and hunger


you will listen for her voice
and whistle and call for her

sometimes you will hear her;
but she will always hear you; she knows your face, form, voice and song

she will still come home for supplemental feeding


she will still come home to sleep in her nest box inside the barn overnight because being a baby bird alone in the world - is exhausting

being a mother bird, even moreso

she will come back, again and again.


she is just pure joy.
she is pure trust.

you are so lucky to have experienced her first weeks of life

you rescued her; but she has restored you, in fact.

please know,

always remember, and never forget:

every bird you see, every wild mammal you see, they all initially survived because of a very devoted mother

Continue reading “proof of life | awkward family fotos”

Sylvia Dickinson Edgar Anne Hughes


Star — the starling, on the evening of July 7, 2024

every poet should know the company of a wild bird, at least once

i recently binged the biography:

“The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet” by life-long Plath scholar Julia Gordon-Bramer

i feel fortunate this book was my introduction to Plath and her poet husband, Ted Hughes— and other significant influences in her life and poetry /

hat tip to my long-time favorite podcast: Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio — created and hosted by Miguel Conner at The Virtual Alexandria for interviewing Gordon-Bramer, because, for the first time ever, i was actually interested in Plath — and furthermore, i unexpectedly experienced a psychic “something” with Plath while listening to the audiobook; this “something” — i want to digest, explore – and possibly explain, in detail, in a future essay //


The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet

Julia Gordon-Bramer

while i imbibed this book, i was simultaneously raising an injured and orphaned starling nestling — on an intensive feeding schedule — and during this time, i learned from the book, that Sylvia and Ted also attempted to rescue an injured and sick baby bird — but after a week, and upon determining rehabilitation was futile, they jointly and sadly euthanized the bird in their gas oven (i know. wow.) ///

Continue reading “Sylvia Dickinson Edgar Anne Hughes”

maybe on the full moon

if you move out of the city
if you move into the country

if you reclaim a meadow

if you plant more than two dozen trees
if you oppose paving the dirt road
if you fill ten bird baths, every single day, until they freeze
if you refuse to mow the clover, plaintain, and dandelion before they set seed
if you sit in silence on the stoop each night, watching
if you turn off every single light before bedtime

if you listen, listen, and listen
if you offer your attention
if you humble your human brain
if you embrace your animal body
if you fall into instinctual kinship
if you are ceaseless in your reverence
if you follow your intuition

maybe the crows will tell their brethren you’re a safe one
maybe the doe will bring her fawns to the salt lick during daylight
maybe the snake will slither under the workbench in the barn while you stand there
maybe the rabbits won’t flee your garden at your footfall
maybe the bats will dance in the twilight sky just above your head

maybe the luna moth will reveal herself to you in that meadow

Continue reading “maybe on the full moon”