A small bird, dark . . .

Cherry blossoms from the spring of 2007 in Japan!

Sometimes it pays to go backwards---maybe just a little way---

maybe a long way. I have finally gotten my hands on a copy of

Burned Kilim by Robert Pesich

published by Dragonfly Press in 2001.

My first memory of Robert Pesich was my observation of him 

at the Foothill Writer's Conference many years before that, 

seated on stairs talking earnestly to another poet. (I think it was Henry Carlisle.)

Their serious expressions impressed me, and I might have been 

a little jealous of the attention

young male poets often received in these situations. . . 

The book turns out to be worth serious attention, with very interesting subject matter 

and excellent handling of the language and themes throughout.

Here is the one I chose for tonight.

A Window in the City

I was in the back, in the bathroom,

reading the Times on the toilet,

a small article under a yellow night-light

because the switch was blown.

"Old woman finds infant in dumpster,

revives him with songs."

It was then that I could hear

someone knocking on the neglected

window in the corner, above my face.

A small bird, dark as my eyes

returning to her chicks.

The nest wedged against the hinge

keeping the window open with its woven

mouth of mud, grass, and tangled

cassette tape holding my voice,

a few words, a brief song, made useful.

Tiny ligature of a greater voice

that brings me to the window.

Black back-alley, bricks,

dumpster and sour diesel.

The birds resting in my breath

while outside, someone shatters

a glass, or a mirror

under a brief snow of blossoms

floating down from somewhere.

Robert Pesich 

Burnt Kilim, 

Dragonfly Press, Mountain View, California, 2001, page 47.