O to be that black bird
High atop the pepper tree
Balanced on the swaying branch
And gazing down at me
O to be above life
And the grime of roads and rails
To lose the grit between the toes
Beneath the fingernails
Soaring and ignoring
The harried and the hurried
The timelines and the deadlines
Feverish and flurried
A smile begins to turn
Up the corners of my mouth
The bird’s a fine distraction from
This traffic snaking south
Admiringly I look at
This one who‘s eying me
Gladly I’d trade places with
That mockingbird so free
(2005)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem