To a Robin in Lent
You were the first one back,
the first one back.
You clung to a bare black branch,
your habit to choose Sundays in March,
wind whirling around you,
sky grey as a shroud, and wet,
to sing to the flowers, not there yet.
You were not loud.
No, not at all.
But you knew what you were doing.
Elizabeth Spires is the author of six collections of poetry, most recently The Wave-Maker. She teaches at Goucher College in Baltimore. This poem first appeared in The Wave-Maker: Poems (W.W. Norton and Company, 2008) and is used with permission of the author.
- Editor's Note from March 01, 2016
Issue 43: Perfect pitch, big-wave surfing, and double DNA. /
- The Messy Secrets of Perfect Pitch
Inside the science of a skill revered in much of the music world. /
- Moving Mountains
Searching for beauty beyond the bigness of the wave. /
- My New Life as a Chimera
Living with two sets of DNA. /
- Wonder on the Web
Issue 43: Links to amazing stuff.