The Fussing I Would Silently Do Poem by Maggie Doyle

A bluejay is outside its nest
picking delicately at strands with its beak
as if to arrange it along the lines of the morning’s breezes,
so the nest is of the sky
as its children will be soon.

I tie my shoes tight
the sidewalk’s pull impervious as usual
I wait for the bluejay to stop its flittering
but the bird is addicted,
skittering from branch to branch.

Jealousy sweeps through my heart
then its relentlessly grip finds its home in my chest
I admire the bird’s eyes, direct, endlessly black
I love you -
So hard to to see all this, all of the bird, all of its drives,

And you, gone. Pulled in your own way, away
from me. And the fussing
I would silently do
hoping painfully that nothing would hurt you
now offers an emptiness the wind rushes through.