The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Coffee brewed in the kitchen,
gurgling its thick and hearty darkness
as impatience reared a new morning.
First cigarette flared, its light gone unnoticed
in the brightness of dawn.
The bluejay stopped briefly on the post just outside,
glanced over his shoulder toward me, his vibrant feathers
glistening as he chirruped once, his black-pearled eyes
void of recognition, then resumed his journey to a tall tree's open arms
across the way, seeming to look back at me standing behind the glass,
both of us framed in each other's moment.
I filed the instant in a folder marked "beauty"
as he ignored this wisp of smoke in the distance,
an insignificant blip on his internal radar.
Sipping fragrant warmth, I remembered as vividly and as quickly
as he forgot, his smaller brain composed of more important knowledge
than I could ever grasp from any wisdom-filled tome.
When I am old,
I will recall his casual greeting
and ponder his final flight -
if he landed where it was soft,
if the earth welcomed his preening
as deeply as I did on that bold Spring morning
so long ago.
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