The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
The bird pauses
as if to rethink its stuttered movements
within the tattered grass
gathering sunlight.
Its neck curves in quirky motions,
black beads studying the spaces
between earth and sky
as if forlorn for flight,
yet aching for rest.
Feathers flutter,
although the wind is still;
the willows do not distend their tendrils
nor weep.
Moments pass in casual observation
of natural things elaborating themselves
with quiet pride as if to make sure
they do not become lost within the surrounding noise.
A weary mother eases slowly onto a vacant bench
as if to accumulate the scattered pieces of her life
into a cohesive bouquet, desolate with fragrance.
She does not speak to her child who fusses
at these inevitable anomalies -
she strokes silence with her hands, her eyes shuttered,
infinitely aware of the moment
she’ll need to let go
and let the nest become permeated with shadows.
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