Cocooned In Her Nest Poem by Alistair Graham

At 7am I stand on the back step
And smoke a cigarette
The strange calm haunts me and my heart sinks
Inside my chest
Silence is all that remains since the starlings flew
Away to live their lives

It's the 13th of July and I'm back to work today
After the 12th bank holiday
The Belfast roads will be as quiet as a graveyard
On a winter's evening
I chase the thoughts of work out of my head
Into the sky

I picture the parent starling flying from the nest
In the roof of my house
I watch it search for food in the overgrown roof-garden
On the concrete outbuilding
I follow its constant going and coming as it feeds
The hatchlings at intervals
A chorus erupts each time the starling returns
To alight on the guttering

I miss the birds; even the noisy house sparrows
Nesting inside a hole in the house brick
The chatter of tiny sparrow-mouths poking at the air
In hope of nourishment

I look up to the tall trees nodding in the wind
Below the darkening clouds
A magpie glides into view and lands on the birdbath
Without a sound
I stare at the magpie until the rain falls from the sky
In a torrent
It spills onto my head and down my face
Like a river of tears
My cigarette falls apart, onto the patio and floats away
Into the gutter

I hold the picture of the birds in my mind and go inside
To get dressed for work
My wife is asleep, unwell, in bed; cocooned in her nest, she is
More prized than the birds of the air
The engine starts and I drive the car
Into the city to save our lives