Linda Studley

One Bird’s Trash

I found a feather,
bright blue resting lightly on the grass,
a swatch of the sky drifted to earth.
I gathered it up for wonder.

I found a feather,
yellow gold, glowing on the dirt road,
a shard of the sun, a celestial hitchhiker.
This too I gathered.

I found a feather,
iridescent black, lodged in the pansies,
a nail paring of night sky, hiding from the day.
I gathered again.

I wove the feathers into my nest of memory
and never again wondered
why some birds steal tinfoil.

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