“Instinct” by Joyce Holdread

Her gray and brown flecked
body is barely visible as
she hopscotches along
the graveled walks.

The tiny house finch
bends forward to pick up
a piece of straw — migrant
from garden mulch,
then flies to cactus
outside my window.

Pricked by spines,
she slips around barbed
fingers to line cholla
palm with straw,
wisps of grass,
fine twigs.

All day, poked and jabbed,
she ducks hungry tines,
weaves bits of cotton
snatched midair,
mitts in a strand
of blue yarn.

In weary light, she rests
as feet and feathers
sculpt soft space.
She drops for pale green pearls
harboring bones and beaks,
roots of wings.

Six days she sits,
a small spiked respite,
from sharp gaping mouths
born in the shadow of thorn.

Joyce Holdread
The Penwood Review 9:2 (Fall 2005)

Comment:  It’s a new year! It’s also the season of epiphany. (Have you had your epiphany yet??) Last night, my friend and fellow poet from Calvary Episcopal Church in Golden, Joyce Holdread, came over to my house so we could resurrect Epiphany Artists (which hasn’t met in three months – ay!). She shared this poem with me, and as a fellow bird-watcher, I found it intriguing.