Mockingbird mating flight ritual

As a child, I tried to rescue a mockingbird chick
Fallen from the nest
The mother squawked and dove for my head
pulling hair and making herself known
I put the chick back and ran home,
never to hear that frantic bird call again.

When car alarms were all the rage, a harmless nudge
would set them blaring, polluting the air
with vanity                                                                                                                                               The mockingbird did the same
in a search for its meaning.
As the alarms ceased, so did the bird.

Perched in a tree listening carefully
the mockingbird hears the calls of a house
where babies are raised.
The bird sets a mother on edge
with a pained song.
As babies grow, mock-crying stops.

This mockingbird of ordinary seasons
calls to us, wherever we are
in this moment.
Forgetful of the past, equal parts laughter and grief.
Blind to the future, or unwilling to guess.
Singing only the tale of today.


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