TWO BLUEBIRD MORNING

Today was a two-bluebird morning.
They swooped at dawn, then crashed
into the bay window where I sat
blearily typing up student poems—racing the clock.
Fallen on the bright grass, they were archetypal.
I picked them up, cradled them in my hands,
I held them, and my breath,
I was literally holding the heart of the sky in my hands,
Then they awoke, and flew off into the mist.
I was not the same person I was a few minutes ago.

5/15/18
rev. 5/20

I never got around to writing the poem. Too busy meeting deadlines.Two bluebird morning. As I typed poems, they crashed into the window where I sat, I held the heart of the sky in my hands, then they flew off. Two pieces of the sky, a pair, the male was indescribably blue. The female, drab. Scared the shit out of me, I saw them out of the corner of my eye right before they struck, coming straight for my head, like kamakazi pilots, then kabam! We've been having some earthquakes so loud noises are always suspect. Duck and cover? They were both stunned, with wings spread on the grass, they seemed almost mythical, so I cradled them in my hands to keep them warm, and calm them until they recovered. I now have tiny feathers down the front of my sweater. No way to get a photo of them as my hands were full of birds with racing hearts.

Ethan Hay said  those poems are beginning to affect the Earth's magnetic field. Best get them typed up quickly and distributed, for the sake and continued health of your local flora and fauna. It is an incredible blue, isn't it? As if a piece of the sky had sprouted wings and taken flight. Yet the sky was never so warm, so soft, so vulnerable to panes of glass.

5/15/20 I love Facebook memories. I find bits of writing that never made it to my blog. A fleeting moment from two years ago still brings back the magic. Maybe this time I will write that poem. But I need to teach in a few moments. Some thing remain the same. Who could ever have imagined we’d all be sequestered like this two years later?