⌘ Bluebirds Renting the Squash Studio
A storm approaches
dark energy
bursting
rumbling toward,
I sit outside
in my bathrobe
and wait
for the bluebirds
to return to their new house,
rent-controlled
luxury squash studio
with modern slant roof
built from a hollowed out gourd
by my love’s sweet hands,
gently tied to a bend in a branch of a young ash tree.
I wait with my camera,
zoomed all the way in and hushed,
the blue pair flies from dogwood
to maple to oak and back again
circling around their
private getaway
sensing they are being watched,
I send peace,
thunder rolls.
Mother bluebird
expects children soon,
it is unclear if the eggs have already been laid
but one can sense the excitement in the air,
bright blue constant father
brings fresh worms insects,
another pine needle for warmth, another,
mother’s head constantly
cuckoos out of the hole
as if to add to the grocery list while daddy runs out the door.
The chipmunk
gave them a baby shower last week,
there was cake, I heard,
sprinkled with plump spiders and seeds,
the butterflies served as decoration
fluttering their brightly colored wings,
Spring
is a time for watching everything
open up again,
the buds, the flowers – my eyes, heart.
And I write this poem
as I wait
to get the perfect photo,
the drizzle thickens,
I wonder what it sounds like
on a roof of dried squash
thup thup thup thup
the rain falls harder
everything green around us
starts to glow against the darkening earth.
My love tells me to come inside
she says that I’m making them nervous,
that the babies might be getting cold.
We make a vantage point from the kitchen window,
remove the screen
perch
out of sight.
Bright blue father
finds the waiting branch
fluffs his wet feathers
poses for a photo
and tucks inside with mother bluebird.
Thunder rolls,
the rain falls in sheets,
all is quiet,
all is warm,
all is safe.
There’s a fire burning in the fireplace,
the dogs are snoring softly,
all is quiet,
all is warm,
all is safe.
⌘ Love Notes
the love notes
that she leaves me
are invisible
in that they are not notes
written with pen paper sentiment
in that they are this life
all around us
this detail we’ve put into shaping
the creation we have deemed
home
family
love
this morning
at my keyboard
where I go to pray
I’ll find the words to voice
all this feeling
there
cracked open
splayed
baby blue
half a tiny eggshell hatched
from the eastern bluebird family
nested up in the hollowed out squash studio
we tied to an ash tree by the driveway
she found it outside
brought it in for me to see
this remnant
of blue birth hope
of beginning
when so much in the world seems to be ending
of shell cracking open and becoming sky
this is the love note
she leaves me
without pen or poetics
this fragile tender thing that crumbles to touch
but through its meaning
reflects the strongest love I have ever known
I look out the window
to where the bluebirds have made a home
watch
for tiny things learning to fly
listen
for tiny songs filling the trees
wait
for tiny wings becoming the sky
⌘ Blue Babies
now there are eastern bluebird babies
three open mouths
quiet with their hunger
small gray-blue heads
peering out of the hole
that is the door to the squash studio,
an emptied out gourd tied to an ash tree they call home
it’s spring
and my dear one gave me
a broken blue eggshell
she found underneath the nest
today we watch from the kitchen window
as mother and father bluebird
fly
down
from their warm gourd
to pluck fat worms from the earth
they work for hours
back and forth streaks of blue against the trees
morning to evening feeding
one
two
three
chirping heads
squealing for the buffet of decadent
spiders ants beetles worms
blue unfolds daily
miracle of nature and life
soon
their eyes will open to the sky
their wings
will be more feather than tuft and downy
they will learn
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
and flying
all by our front door
what did we do to deserve this beautiful blue omen?
these five tiny souls coexisting with us
two women and two dogs
are we all one family now?
at night the feeding stops
we wonder how they all fit inside that tiny gourd
how they tuck and curl their five bodies in one small space
how do they sleep?
mother and father bluebird on the outsides
outstretched wings acting as blanket
snug children nestled underneath
just look at the word “nestled”
how it comes from
nest
how can humans pretend to know such warmth?
their blue breaths must be so tender
puffs
so quiet still
so pulsing soft
with blue
radiant incubation
in a squash we strung to a tree
with hopes it would become a home
Kai Coggin is a poet, author, and teaching artist living in the valley of a small mountain in Hot Springs National Park, AR. She holds a B.A. in English, Poetry, and Creative Writing from Texas A&M University. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Sinister Wisdom, Assaracus, Calamus Journal, Lavender Review, The Rise Up Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Luna Luna, Blue Heron Review, Hoctok, Yes, Poetry and elsewhere. Coggin is the author of two full-length collections, PERISCOPE HEART (Swimming with Elephants, 2014) and WINGSPAN (Golden Dragonfly Press, 2016), as well as a spoken word album called SILHOUETTE (2017). Her third full-length collection INCANDESCENT is forthcoming from Sibling Rivalry Press in 2019. Her poetry has been nominated three times for The Pushcart Prize, as well as Bettering American Poetry 2015, and Best of the Net 2016 and 2018. Kai teaches an adult creative writing class called Words & Wine, and is also a Teaching Artist with the Arkansas Arts Council and Arkansas Learning Through the Arts, specializing in bringing poetry and creative writing to youth around the state. www.kaicoggin.com
featured photo credit: Kai Coggin
