Second Story
Sit every day by the window,
repeat your mantra— he’ll come back,
he’ll come back.
A bird is building its nest outside.
You don’t know its name, what to call it—
give it his name.
Watch as he lands in the branches,
a twig in his beak. Tilting his head,
considering, before placing it just so.
Soon, you’re rooting for him—
against the wind, the rain,
the neighborhood cats.
His song is so precise, his home
so sturdy, his hopping dance
so proud and joyful.
A few days later, you see him,
leaning against his dun-colored mate,
who leans into him.
And finally, inside your chest,
you feel the beating of wings
once again.
My notes: I’ve gone back and forth on the title for this one. The original title was “Second Story,” and it was shorter and the ending didn’t really go anywhere. When I rewrote it, I changed the title to “The Breakup” to make it more clear what the first stanza is talking about, but I’m going back and forth on the title; “Second Story” is also literal (looking out the second story window, where you would see into the top of the tree), but probably is stronger with other associations? Titles are hard. I’m much happier with the ending, though.
