Cardinal at My Window, by Dottie Smith Mann
Everyday he attacks his reflection in the glass
For hours he pecks, pecks, pecks, pecks.
I am saddened by the futility.
And yet perhaps it is just what he needs
Sharpens his beak. Dulls his beak.
Gets exercise. Improves his eyesight.
Avoids harmful aggression with other birds.
Stays away from the nest where a brooding female
has no room, or patience, for him.
He is not me
Sadness about futility is my emotional reality, not his.
Do I fear that I am banging my head against an uncaring reflective wall?
Does it sadden me that I might be without insight into the reality of my condition?
Does it pain me to hear his clicking metronome of dailiness
while I listen to my heartbeat
and my husband’s
waiting to hear it stop.
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