Poetry- The Mockingbird

I wrote this a month or so ago, and thought it time to share.  I have a sort of love/hate relationship with the mockingbird that's moved in to the oak next to our house.  It has a beautiful, beautiful song in my opinion, that pulls out a kind of luster from the night.  It also, pardon the language, never f*cking stops and can keep you up all night with its varied and ever-changing tune.  It's come in the past, for a few days late each Spring, and I've often been moved to write over the years by its call.  This year, I think we've got a male, who is looking for a mate. This means the song is strong and never ending.  I've had to sort of learn to make my peace with the bird, so I could learn to sleep again.

I'm doing an art class, and we're supposed to find a totem animal to paint. I thought of a fox, a frog, a butterfly, all things I've been drawn to.  But it's the mockingbird in the end that was the most contentious to me, that bothered me the most but also spoke the most strongly.  Probably means its a good fit.  ::sigh::  



The Mockingbird



That fucking mocking bird.
Kept me awake again last night.  I felt very alive
and at rest,
            when I heard it singing again.
The way it throttles the night
                                               like a beautiful fucking curse.
Water falls down from the moon
through the mouth of a vase,
and out comes the mocking bird’s song.

I don’t know why but I can’t help
but listen.
He keeps
plucking a string
and the tension
seems to pull me from my bed,
like a ligament attached to my mind.
And like any good string that has been plucked
I suddenly am compelled to produce music.

And therefore I must get up
and write
and imagine his dark shadow
residing in the darker shadow,
so that I too
may climb into the tree.