In The Nest Of A Sparrow Poem by Jette Blackstone
In The Nest Of A Sparrow
When I was born
a wraith flew in the window
and sucked out my breath.
As I turned from ash to black
I crumbled in the doctor's arms
and flew out,
weightless like the magic
of a sparrow that sings
to beckon crows.
When my mother cried out
I hardened into the shell
of a human and burrowed
into her arms.
When my eyes opened
I possessed wisdom
of birds and spirits,
yet they still insisted
on excising my wings.
No longer able to fly
I cried for milk and shelter
until the day the wraith returned
and flushed me into soil
where I grew into a poppy
that was picked to nestle
in the nest of a sparrow.
Revisited. Fantastic captivating poetry. The flair and flow of imagination is inimitable. Loved it.
What an amazing write. The words picked me up and took me along with their wonderful images. I like the flow of this. I like the positive ending. It's like a little bit of magic. Thanks for brightening my day.
hey, jette! hoping this finds you well and thriving. checking to see if you had new postings, my attention lit of the title of this poem—there's a a curve-billed thrasher nest with chicks in it in the cholla on a corner of my house's property. the images in this poem are accessible, but i don't have anything in my experience to relate to the narrative as whole. would you mind telling me what it's about? -glen
Thanks for commenting Glen. I am alive and well, just not been on PH lately. Happy Birthday! :)
You have a mysterious relation with that wraith. When it comes into your life it sweeps you away in the direction of dreams, then you find yourself in a new phase. Perhaps you are being readied to summon crows. Their message has changed since the times of bird augury.
Thanks for commenting Denis. I let this poem just write itself, not worrying about much but the images and thoughts in my mind.
Is this a rebirth or a discovery? Sometimes, it's hard to distinguish what is the precursor of who we are. By whatever origin or form, I know that you'll find fulfillment.10
I would say it is both and I think life is a cyclical thing with no order of origin...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 10:06:14 AM # 1.0.0.1119
a wonderful philosophical poem of a life in an ongoing transformative and perpetual change? ..............well written Jette.
Yes perpetual. Thanks so much Tom. Take care. :)