Katherine Spadaro: ‘The Squawking Bird’

The Squawking Bird

I heard tonight a squawking bird,
who squawked and squawked, with strength and skill.
His ancestors can squawk no more;
his offspring (may they multiply!)
do not yet squawk, but like a flourished ribbon with its
high point rippling on, the line must hinge on him.
His duty is himself: to walk, to fly
on soft and streamlined wings, to squawk,
to fill his lungs and squawk again. Then
scaling down a spiralled sky, to find his darkened nest
and sleep, as only those can sleep who know
this day they squawked God’s will.

Katherine Spadaro

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