My darling, I’m blue.
As blue as you.
And black face painted
and our long beaks.
Feathered alike.
We’ve built our cup;
our cone of branches;
twigs in a circle
and I nestle atop,
behind criss cross chain-
link vines and boughs.
Protected. Above.
I sit, and you flit,
there and here,
with nuts and seeds.
I smell the river
hear the wind.
We’ll stop awhile,
beaks long, Cleopatra eyes,
blue feathers,
raise our young.
Today, we match the clouds.
White whisps;
belly feathers downy,
surrounded in blue;
blue and blue.
By Marjorie Moorhead
Marjorie Moorhead writes from a river valley, surrounded by mountains and four season change. Her work is collected in many anthologies, several print and online literary journals, and in the two chapbooks Survival: Trees, Tides, Song (Finishing Line Press 2019), and Survival Part 2: Trees, Birds, Ocean, Bees (Duck Lake Books 2020). At the start of the pandemic, Marjorie closely watched a pair of Bluejays nest and brood. She has several poems from the point of view of Mamma Jay. https://marjoriewritespoetry.wordpress.com/places-you-can-see-my-work/