Posts Tagged ‘nest’

I Might Have Resisted

Breaking open with loss
and beauty at the same time,
my heart a frightened bird
beating against glass panes,
I almost ran from the warm theater,
threading through happy chatter
to stand alone in the cold night air,
thinking I could cry unnoticed in the dark.
But then one, then two friends
found me and took turns pulling me
into their softness, wrapping me
in such tenderness, weaving
low and soothing sounds around us
until out of love and touch and voice
they made of the moment a nest.
So gently they held my fragility
at the edge of festive shouts
and back slaps and joyous banter.
The night itself laced through
our small circle like a black silk ribbon,
tying us together,
It was only a few moments.
it was forever.

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It hides in the rafters,
this tightly woven nest of grass,
brown and humble,
lined with mud.
I would like to hold
this messy vessel in my hands,
as if to hold is understand.
I would like to know
what the nest knows—
how to hold what is fragile,
how to keep life safe,
how it is to be made to be useful,
how it is to be made to be left.
How beautiful it can be
to hold emptiness.

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At the Houston Zoo

Not the chuckwalla
nor the cheetah nor the capybara,
it was the pigeon
I couldn’t stop watching
as it sat on its nest
in the tall sturdy grass
beside the glassed-in walls
of the chimpanzees
with its fluffy grey chicks
tucked against its grey breast.
She looked as if she belonged
exactly where she was—oh
how I cherish that feeling.

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From eggs

the size

of small

jelly beans

come these

two beaks

that peak

beyond the


they save

me, these

two tiny

wingless things.

Even this

bruised heart

remembers how

to marvel.

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the only thing

that matters

is the wound—

from a dark nest

comes gold

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One for the Wounded



how fragile you are—

I make my body

into a nest



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Scrounge and Comb

The heart is like

this small brown bird

who finds in the lawn


a bit of dead grass

and flies it away

to build her nest—


sometimes it takes

so little to build

something beautiful.

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I find a deserted nest
just big enough to carry
in one hand—
it is beautiful, this emptiness,
so beautiful I want to hold it.

Somewhere else, a great migration.
I cradle the wreath of dried grass.
It is another kind of journey
to stay.

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inspired by The Nest by Teddy Macker

Teach me, world, to weave
a nest with whatever scraps I find—
sticks, dry grass, old thread,
twine, barbed wire, plastic bags,
the sad headlines of war. Teach
me to make a haven out of mud
and shit and thistle down, a cozy
space, just room enough, no more.
And then, though I’ll grow comfortable,
teach me to fly away from whatever
comfort I’ve made—not because
I think I’m going somewhere better,
but because there is a rising
in the blood that says go. Teach
me to take nothing but my song
and the silence inside each note.

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At the Same Time

One hand weaves new threads
into the nest, the other
slowly pulls them out

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