For today’s Open Write on Ethical ELA, participants are invited to write poems about “places we call home”.
Nothing pulls on the heart like home… I can almost hear the Beatles’ song “In My Life” playing in the background: “There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed…” The memory of these places, and the spirit of them, really are the theme song of our lives.
Of all the places I remember and could write about…have written about…I choose my home now. I have lived here the longest. I became a grandmother here. I have learned a lot more about savoring here. Usually I try to make my poem title do more work, but today, no other will do.
Home
In the first moments
of pale-pink light
the big brown rabbit
comes from the woods
to nibble away
at the clover
in the ever-thickening branches
of the crape myrtle
my husband and planted
years ago
I can spot hummingbirds
hiding among the leaves
always alone
never together
they dart, one by one
to the kitchen-window feeder
silvery-green females
perfect, pure
ethereal as fairies
a male, ruby fire at his throat
(brighter than the cardinal-flame
landing over on the fence)
impossible greens and turquoise
shimmering on his back
unaware of his utter tininess
he sometimes perches
atop the feeder
as if to say I am King
of this Water-Mountain
a pair of doves feeds
on the ground by the tree line
then takes flight on pearly wings
vanishing in the pines and sweetgums
where their nest is secreted
robins, robins everywhere
just last week
a speckled fledgling on the back deck
both parents in the grass
chirping ground-control instructions
the mockingbird in the driveway
strutting and stretching his banded wings
as if he knows how legendary he is
a trill of finch-song from a nearby tree
so plaintive I fear my heart may burst
and the bluebirds
oh the bluebirds
if only I spoke green language
I would explain that I removed their house
from the back deck
because it is about to be torn down
that I waited
until their unexpected second brood
flew out into the world
never imagining these parents
would return to the empty rail corner
a day or two later
clearly so puzzled
to find their house gone…
if I were the hermit wizard-woman
of this semi-enchanted nook
(as I sometimes pretend to be)
I would have known what to do
but my unmagical self did my best:
placing the birdhouse atop
the old wooden arbor
built by my oldest
when he was a boy
well away
from the impending deck destruction
and to my astonishment
the bluebirds have followed
their home
I do not yet know
if more eggs have been laid
in the house relocated
to the arbor
but as evening draws
and the pine-shadows fall
across the arbor
and the crape myrtle
and the big brown rabbit
back in the clover
and the old dog’s grave
and the old deck
about to be made new
I ponder
my length of time on this Earth
and the continuous carving-out
of home
how it goes on and on
a path forever unfolding before me
that I must follow
like the doe in the little clearing
across the road
pausing for one long moment
with her two fawns
before disappearing
in the leafy green
One fawn has already been ushered across
*******
with thanks to Ethical ELA and Two Writing Teachers
for the inviolable, invaluable writing spaces
and the inspiration
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lit bits and pieces 
Fran, the similarities abound. I, too, took pictures of a doe in a clearing yesterday. One spotted fawn with mama, curious about my intentions and braver than she. This is lovely birdsong in poetry, these calls of our winged friends finding home again. Your idyllic setting there in the photograph just begs to the soul to slow down and breathe nature. Breathe life, and enjoy every single moment. Beautiful, as always.
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Have you read anything by Gladys Taber? Stillmeadow Sampler or any of her other works? She’s an author I think you would enjoy. I still go back to Mitford Village for the peace of life, and I’m sure that you found so much to love in those pages too. Your poem today reminds me of these amazing books and the peace in printed pages and stories of simple life.
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Thank you for this beautiful comparison, Kim – I haven’t read Stillmeadow Sampler, etc. but now I shall have to! That peace – yes, that’s exactly what I find, and treasure, in watching the birds and woodland creatures making their homes in the shadow of mine.
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Kim, the similarities remain as wondrous as the sight of does and fawns. And as much a gift! There are so many things to say about home (all the “thens” as well the “now’) and I might have written about my granddaughters, for they are the true crowning jewel of my days… there’s just such a wholesome, abiding peace imparted by the birds. It’s incredible what they know to do, how they behave. I’ve never had the chance to observe them so closely until recent years, when they began sheltering themselves quite literally under my own roof. They’re now an inextricable part of home and heart and belonging for me – plus they teach me something every day. The big old rabbit’s return, morning and evening, has a similar effect, as does the Mama deer and fawns – something about the continuity of life. All so tied to the concept of “home” and generations. My Micah, age 20 months, loves for me to hold her at the window to look for birds. She mimics me now, holding up a finger and whispering “Watch. Watch.”
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This is gorgeous Fran. I heard the Beetles song leading into your poem…all the ways your home is home too there’s- that awareness and grace with which your home belongs to you and these creatures you write about.
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This is beautiful. What strikes me the most is the naturalistic vocabulary, some of which is new to me: crape myrtle, mockingbird, banded wings, arbor, brood, and many more. I also love some of the figurative word choice, like “hermit wizard-woman of this semi-enchanted nook.” What a cool line! I read it a dozen times.
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Thank you for your lovely words, Leah! I have often heard people mention “crazy old cat ladies” and I guess I aspire to be a “crazy old bird lady,” only helping vs. hoarding the creatures…”hermit wizard-woman” is how that desire came out in the poem. So glad you enjoyed it.
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Fran, I love the unexpectedness of your poem about home being all about your yard and how it is home for a variety of wild creatures. It emanates compassion and care, as well as close observations over time. The saga of the bluebird house, and the uncertainty as you try to do right by them, is a metaphor for how we live in the world. I just returned from visiting a friend who wanted me to see her baby wrens in her city back yard, and we laughed as they woke up and urged the tiny parents on to bring more food.
And my favorite line, that departure from the rest- ‘the old dog’s grave.’ Also part of home, yes. I’m sharing your beautiful poem with my friend.
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Thank you, Fran. Watching the daily process of new birds coming in the world is a gift. So fragile at the start, yet so quickly out in the world (if all goes well). There’s something to learn every day, watching what birds do. I have read that bluebirds are loyal and will return to their same nesting ground each year. In fact, ours likely remain close by throughout winter. It nearly broke my heart to see the bluebird parents looking for that house after having already raised two broods since March. They are still here; I see them occasionally around the house in its new place. That’s the only option I have until the new deck is done (delayed by weather, alas). I could not leave them displaced! I hope your friend will enjoy the poem – have those little wrens fledged yet? The care the parents give their babies – the amount of work they do – strikes deep chords in my soul.
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Fran, this is beautiful as always. I thoroughly enjoyed your poem as I walked beside you when I read it. It is filled with amazing reflection, and beautiful word choice leading to vivid descriptions. These lines, “silvery-green females/perfect, pure/ethereal as fairies”reminds me of the first time I saw hummingbirds sitting on my neighbor’s deck. I was astounded by their size, beauty, and persistence to flit around in search of food. Fran, your home is precious. May it always be filled with God’s grace.
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Thank you Fran, for the introduction to your home and its wonderful inhabitants. You have described a whole world for us in such a delightful way. I’m so glad the bluebirds worked out the relocation of their home and I’m envious of your hummingbirds. I think they would be my favourite bird if they lived over here. I love your reflection at the end (I especially love that word ‘ponder’) and that truly magical photo that speaks volumes more!
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Thank you, Celia. There are more things to learn about life every day, just watching birds. The hummers are loners and the fiercest of all the birds; their ability to endure migrations and storms, tiny as they are, utterly captivates me. Their colors are incredibly beautiful, ever-changing in the light. My granddaughter Micah, 20 months old now, wants me to told her at the window to see the birds. She mimics my whispered “Watch. Watch.” This is one of our very favorite things. I hope you and yours are well!
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Yes we are, thank you, different birds here, different sounds, but still so much to ‘watch, watch’!
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I’ve always wanted to see a kookaburra. 🙂
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P.S. Celia, my oldest granddaughter saw a kookaburra at camp last week!! Wish I’d been there!
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Fran – You do speak green language. The birds and woodland animals know and come to be in your kingdom! Such a lovely poem! I love how it came full circle like a hug. Glad we are poet-friends!
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