The old Blue Jay looks out at us
from the pictures Don took last week—
her eyes teach us what survival means.
"The bird never moved", Don said, "Never moved
until I threw a twig at it, and then looked down
just like that"—with a sweep of his arm.
"I really didn't know she was alive until I noticed her heart
beating in her chest during several consecutive shots."
This Blue Jay is beautiful—from the gray hair on top
of her head down to her weathered wings held in tight,
she looks out at us with empathy—yes, I said empathy.
This is what it means to survive for a long time:
I can identify with you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem