The Lyric Bird

And the lyric bird vomiting into blue air falls back, its body shivering, wings broken. Soon the sun will dry it out, insects gather.

Where did I first meet the lyric bird? I met it at a skylight window or in a garden among rusting pram wheels, I met it soft beneath your dress. Taking its shape from the earth’s scents I met the lyric bird in my head.

I sang with it for some time and the lives around me the sad lives the brilliant lives I ignored them. I sang with the lyric bird. It did not occur to me such birds can be amusing— I was so glum! It did not occur to me its song might be an echo of my own.

So I have taken the lyric bird and examined it. Said to it, Go to that woman, blind among roses, sing to her of their sweetness. It obeyed me. It sang. But the woman, something other than flowers obsessed her. Go through her veins then, fly up, into the brain. Sing to her to remove her most common problem. The bird remained silent.

And the lyric bird vomiting into blue air falls back, its body shivering, wings broken. Soon the sun will dry it out, insects gather.

Brian Patten