The Bowerbirds

I like this poem from the New Yorker this week. Maybe it’s my avian poetry fascination. Maybe it’s just the mosquito chandeliers. Anyway, it’s nice.

The Bowerbirds
by Dana Goodyear

As if we were leaving
the small forest tower that we built,
with a moss carpet and mosquito chandeliers,
and laughing at it.
I can’t believe you used that word—
in an argument, no less.
But we would never break this way,
loose, affectionate, wry.
You straighten,
add an ornament.
This is somehow part of our staying.
If you left, a black cape would flap
like a crow winging,
and I would make a hundred harried calls.

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2 Responses to “The Bowerbirds”

  1. Boogernose Says:

    She’s the poetry editor of the New Yorker! I
    wonder how her poem got selected for publication……………..

  2. Robin Says:

    You have the best commenter name ever. Thanks for reading!

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