Speculating on the meaning of birdsong








There is a space inside me dedicated to your needs.

I am thick, like the grass above a grave. There is nothing

glamorous about recollection. This morning, a sparrow

visited our feeder. Its small ability, the way it leaned

in. We were all delicate once. I blame you for the chair

stranded in my mouth, for how I strain to hear

the bird’s gentle song. We rested but did not sleep,

arranged next to each other like trees. It turns out

I don’t know you very well. I see your quiet pleasure,

the way your slumber has nothing to do with me.

Let’s take a walk tomorrow, get lost in mutual

destruction. The track can contain our sorrow

and our desire, but not much else.







Photo by krwphotographic

Giving = Loving. We are able to bring you content such as this through the generous support of readers like yourself. Please help us deliver words to readers. Become a regular Patreon Subscriber today. Thank you!

About Author

Kate Lutzner's poetry and stories have appeared in such journals as Antioch Review, Poetry Magazine, Mississippi Review, The Brooklyn Rail, BlazeVOX and Rattle. She was awarded the Robert Frost Poetry Prize by Kenyon College and is recipient of the Jerome Lowell Dejur Award and the Stark Short Fiction Prize. She holds a J.D. from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and an MFA from City College.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: