Nine Birds – a poem by Matthew Merson

Nine Birds

I.
As a child, my first moments of wonder 
arrived on the backs of American Robins.
How do those dull feathers and hollow bones
carry the weight of spring?

II.
Turkey Vultures would often stalk 
high above the Gunpowder River,
casting their silver shadows
on my father and I as we fished 
for trout and conversation.

III.
On the day I left for bootcamp,
Purple Martins were returning
from their southern tour. 
A thousand bodies finally finding rest
as I was finding an escape route.

IV.
There was a Red Cardinal 
perched in the barren pear tree 
past our kitchen window,
watching my wife and I
celebrate Christmas the best we could 
despite postpartum depression.

V.
From the pine barks of Idaho,
Mourning Doves cooed 
my son and I awake,
telling us the fish were biting.

VI.
As my daughter and I danced
among the basalt boulders
of the Snake River,
Peregrine Falcons gazed down
from their cliffed perch
with yellowed ancient eyes.

VII.
There was the Northern Fulmar 
hovering over my right shoulder 
as I crossed an arctic fjord in Greenland,
a warm belly of comfort, 
patiently reminding me 
I was not completely alone.

VIII.
Far above the neighborhood worries,
a Barred Owl nests in the pines,
diligently overlooking my home
and all who enter it.
Now, when my son asks me 
Where is proof of God’s existence? 
I will tell him to look for the birds.

Matthew Merson is a travelling salesman who lives with his family and dogs in Charleston, South Carolina. His other work can be found in Hidden Peaks Review, JAKE and The Spotlong Review among others.