From the open window above the kitchen sink
I can hear the nagging demands of baby birds
The urgent chirps of instinct and hunger
Protected pocket where the drainpipe meets the skirting is the ideal spot for a nest
Where only impassive giants in larger nests not of their own self-construction listen to helpless offspring
And think of their own natural world marked off somewhere distant
I can hear the sound of rustled urgency and uncomfortable anticipation
Extremely narrow focus without reason or analysis
Ready to push a sibling out of the nest for access to more food
And somewhere nearby a mother yells at her daughter over some womanhood infraction
Nothing is fed and nothing is regurgitated
After the rainy season is over, we'll pay a neighborhood handyman to clear out the drainpipe
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem