Someone’s Home – Poetry – by Patrick W. Marsh

Thank you, the nest has returned.
In a ring of twig hardened fire.
A memory roost coiled round
our white-metal front porch light
always glowing a gloomy halo
on late-shadow nights.

When we first moved here,
spring brought a dust-capped chickadee
who’d belabor our opening-closing red door
in feathery blips of pitchy anger.
She’d never hang too far away,
spiked to a birch tree limb, like a gargoyle.

Thank you, the nest has returned.
This could’ve been our twenty year home.
Mortgage, taxes, fixed, and escrow.
We’ll have four homes before
we’ve got a green lawn again
with aqua-lipped perennials.

When I lock our door finally,
clicking the rust-deadbolt tight.
I’ll whisper to the returning
bird with its twig-web fortress
spiked and unyielding it’s mud ramparts,
“You’re home.”

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