by J V Birch
Honeyeater
I watch a honeyeater at work, the confident landing,
the quickstep up the stem to bury its beak
in jewel-like flowers.
It’s been two months since lockdown and the days
have lost their names, fashioned to soothe,
to listen, to wait.
With a flash of yellow wing, the honeyeater moves
to the next cluster, its eyes bright.
I place a hand on my
breast where life is running wild, picture it being tamed,
anticipate the absence. The honeyeater
flits to the fence
and ruffles its feathers, one falls, gently. I long to feel
the wind through my hair, wonder
how it will grow back.
I watch as the honeyeater wipes its beak on bamboo
then lifts its head to speak,
its call a split star.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J V Birch lives in Adelaide.
Her poems have appeared in anthologies, including Australian Love Poems, The Emma Press Anthology of Aunts and The Molotov Cocktail Prize Winners Anthology.
Her work has also featured in a number of journals and magazines across Australia, the UK, Canada and the US, including Ink, Sweat and Tears, Plumwood Mountain, Magma, Bee House Journal, Cordite and Mslexia.
She has three chapbooks with Ginninderra Press – Smashed glass at midnight, What the water & moon gave me and A bellyful of roses – and a full-length collection, more than here. She blogs at www.jvbirch.com