Once again, May

Sarah Marquez

A flash of white wings. The mockingbird

alighting from its sky-house. I must

hold statue-like at the window, not to scare it

away. Pause, as I do every morning, when

night is still humming in the kitchen. The

coffee is ready, and I want to pour myself in,

but a voice outside me says, pray first. I

recognize God. I ask him to bless full hands,

what I have prepared to bring to the world, as if

words are magic. I mean, I want to believe.

The mockingbird lands on the succulent shelf,

watches for me, is careful not to disturb the Bear Paw

pushing out a new bloom. Steps with care on the rim of

the yellow pot, and crosses to my favorite jade.

The one I am keeping alive, somehow. It bends

a little. I almost catch it—a glimpse of sun-stressed

leaves, a sharp beak pressed to bright red tips.