winter bird

winter bird

perched on a brittle twig,
her crest nestled deep
in the ruffled hollow
of her feathered breast,

she waits out the night,
alone, silently brooding,
while others rest.

until the cold and dark
are too much to bear,
even for her,

and she lifts her head,
to coax another sunrise
from the frozen soil
with her plaintive call.

for my constant wife
on our 32nd anniversary

this poem appeared in the st. anthony messenger in december 2003