Mocking Bird

Susan P. Blevins

I exit my bright red front door and quietly
stroll beneath my pomegranate tree and
wait, eyes darting, ears cocked, still

Here she comes, diving into the little tree,
chirping her hellos, fluffing her feathers,
responding to my whistles and chuck-chucks

Passers-by see this pantomime and wonder,
blind to what I am seeing, but my avian friend
and I don’t lose a beat. I extend my hand,

hoping she’ll trust me and land, but it’s too soon.
Perhaps if I offer her a juicy caterpillar (where are
those tomato hornworms when I need them?),

or sunflower seeds, she’ll come and perch a
while, eating while she fixes me with her
knowing eye, wariness always lurking

These daily duets make music
in my heart, and for just a moment, release
my human chains so I too am free as a bird.