Poetry Friday: Birdtober Day Twenty-Nine: American Redstart

 

This is day twenty-nine of Birdtober, and I have to say I'm pretty proud of myself for posting daily poems all month, in the middle of some pretty challenging days. Today's prompt, American Redstart, is a favorite bird for me, and I've already posted two of my poems here in which these lovely warblers appear. You can read them here and here. The American Redstarts are in Haiti right now, and yesterday, though my yard was almost devoid of birds, I saw two of them.

Today's poem has been writing itself in my head since the day in July it describes. It happened on the day after the assassination of the Haitian president (the "Haitian news" in the poem), and so our minds were filled with both the pain of that recent event and the joy of being with both of our children together for the first time in many months. I'm sure I'll write more about that day. 

American Redstart. Photo Credit: Molly Hogan

My scrubby yard in Haiti

Spearfish Canyon, South Dakota

American Redstarts


In July,
in a North American summer,
Haitian money in our pockets,
Haitian news in our hearts,
we watched American Redstarts
in Spearfish Canyon.

We’d watched them many times
in our scrubby yard in Haiti
in a Caribbean winter,
flitting back and forth
from the neem tree
to the ficus
to the calabash tree,
and now,
here they were
in the Black Hills spruce.

Hard to imagine how they could thrive
in two such different habitats,
but then,
as we looked from the flash of reddish orange
to our two grownup babies
waiting ahead of us on the trail,
we remembered how our babies
had thrived in the same two habitats,
Haiti and the US,
flying back and forth like birds.

Being a baby,
bird or human,
is risky.
Migration is risky.
Some human babies get stopped at the border,
and some get sent back in an airplane,
but our babies,
carried on privilege,
went back and forth,
back and forth,

And in July,
here they were
in Spearfish Canyon
walking together,
here they were, thriving.

Here we were,
and here were the American Redstarts,
who flew here in the night,
avoiding bad weather
and predators,
avoiding slamming into tall buildings,

Here they were,
showy with their black-banded tails,
flitting back and forth,
singing
as though life were all singing,
which of course it isn’t.
They were singing
and my grown up babies
were laughing,
as though life were all laughing,
which of course it isn’t.

Here we all were,
all of us,
here
in Spearfish Canyon
on a day in July,
thriving.


©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Here are the other Birdtober poems I've written this month:

 

 

Last week's Poetry Friday, a poem about the American Woodcock, with links to Weeks 1 and 2, plus all the poems from Week 3 

 

Saturday: Black-crowned Palm Tanager, an island endemic that I often see in my yard

 

Sunday: Bowerbird, and its bizarre courting rituals

 

Monday: White-throated Dipper, an amazing little bird that dives for its food

 

Tuesday: Ring-necked Pheasant, the state bird of South Dakota

Wednesday: African Pied Wagtail, a bird that lives all over Africa

Thursday: Crested Caracara, and its rather disgusting eating habits

Linda has today's roundup here.