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Monday Meditations
This week's poem, "Cowbirds," is a tribute of sorts to the returning spring birds. It first appeared in Pasque Petals 90.1.
COWBIRDS
The cowbird hen dumps
a fat speckled egg
in the neighbor’s nest
while no one’s home.
She perches, barely winded,
preens a bit, then flies off
to find the cock
and make another egg.
A purple finch sails home,
beak heavy with cricket,
before her own eggs can cool.
She tucks, trims, weaves
the frayed edges of the nest,
shivers tiny muscles
to spread downy feathers
over the eggs.
When the chicks hatch,
one is clumsy dull-brown,
mouth wider, more demanding
than the three pale chicks
over which he lumbers.
He’ll grow quickly,
shove smaller chicks
over the edge.
The cowbird hen dumps
another fat speckled egg
in a phoebe’s nest, catches
her breath, preens, fluffs,
flies back to the cock.
Cowbird hens are not
exceptional—such mothers
are everywhere.