As if she were a bird in disguise.
she looks like the woman I married,
maybe a different kind of a bird now—
not a blue bird but a partridge—
older now, feathers graying
she still sings much of the day.
It was song that won my heart
when she played her guitar
and I first noticed her beauty,
her smile and her voice.
She usually sings in our kitchen now,
but songs all around the house
day and night, personal vespers
burst out with all the lyrics.
Saying she is a bit absent-minded
which indeed is true, a family chuckle,
she impeccably remembers all the lyrics
of those songs to me, our children, and God
which spring forth like bird rituals.
Now in old age, she still sings,
even as we read side by side.
I expect she will sing at her own funeral
before she nests and warbles forever.
Originally published in Green Silk Journal