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Meddling
A pair of cardinals build a Maytime nest
outside my home, deep in a boxwood tree.
My window bids me peek, watch them progress:
their secret ways we can so rarely see.
Three one-inch eggs, so bluish, speckled-quaint.
The female broods, orange-beaked beatitude.
Now two have hatched, begin their peckish plaint:
We’re helpless, hungry, please to bring us food!
One has survived: he’s sprouting fluffy wings.
Besotted, I approach the shrub and gaze.
The nestling startles; upwardly he flings,
then crashes to the ground, lies in a daze.
Does he still live? There’s no trace on the lawn.
For shame! I should have left that nest alone.
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Mary Jane Myers resides in Springfield, Illinois. She is a retired JD/CPA tax specialist. Her debut short story collection Curious Affairs was published by Paul Dry Books in 2018.
Mary Jane, your poem’s striking imagery seems almost culled from experience and I can feel the sadness as a result of inquisitiveness and not knowing what fate befell the young bird. One can only hope for the best and to view the cardinals in succeeding years–perhaps with binoculars from a distance.
Dear Roy
Thank you for your kind comments. Yes, the basis for this poem is a real experience. The sadness is indeed real. To leave “wild” creatures alone is a lesson I learned years ago, but I keep forgetting it.
Most sincerely
MaryJane
This is a perfect narrative-descriptive sonnet. Even though the sonnet as a form has been very closely connected with love and romance, over the centuries it has come to be used for many other subjects as well.
Here a small incident (the disturbance of fledgling birds in a nest) manages to evoke deep emotions — pity, regret, tenderness, and even a splash of horror when the nestling falls and disappears. Someone once called the sonnet “a moment’s monument.” That is certainly the case here.
Dear Joseph
Thank you for your kind comments about my sonnet. This poem is based on a real incident, and I experienced deep regret. The compression of the sonnet form forces a poet to focus on the pith of a situation. That said, the trick also is to suggest nuance, the ripples as it were from the splash of the pebble onto the surface of the lake.
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
The title tells it all with this cautionary tale. Some lessons in life we learn the hard way.
Thanks for the read, MJ.
Dear Paul
Thank you for your kind comments. This is a lesson I keep having to re-learn. I’m not sure why I keep forgetting it.
Sincerely
Mary Jane
What a fine telling of a cautionary tale! It brings to mind arguably the best episode of The Andy Griffith Show — Opie the Birdman. Thanks for sharing this story in fine form, Mary Jane.
Dear Russel
Thank you for your gracious comments. I was not familiar with Opie the Birdman–but I have found it on YouTube. The script is inspirational, and the musical score is lovely and lyrical.
Most sincerely
Mary Jane
A masterpiece of description, Mary Jane, including a miniscule narrative that, from your pejorative title, we almost expect to end badly. The octave presents such beautiful temptation, though! Rare opportunity to observe “secret ways,” and what a precious line you present in “The female broods, orange-beaked beatitude.” You again warn of approaching pathos by characterizing yourself the speaker as “besotted.” Even before, when the sonnet turns, to reveal that only one chick has lived long enough to grow wings, we are already in the presence of natural transience usually hidden from human beings. But the moment of disaster passes quickly for the speaker, who must wonder where the bird went. I, too, in a yard well populated with birds and squirrels, wonder at rare moments how the little corpses disappear. I’ve never found one, and I can’t think they all fled or flew elsewhere. Still, very much understand the feeling of shame at meddling!
Margaret, thank you for your encouraging comments. The kernel of this poem was a real-life experience. I felt remorse, and wanted to convey my emotion in poetic language. I decided that the sonnet form might be perfect to describe this incident.
I worked on the poem over several weeks. My first effort was dreadful!–anemic language, ragged pentameter, and insipid rhymes. I threw out the entire poem, and started over again. Over the next few weeks, I wrote down descriptive words and phrases, and then worked to shape my material. I then put the sonnet aside for one week, and returned to it with my editing eye.
The “beatitude” line seemed to come out of “thin air.” I was fascinated with the bright-orange beak of the female, whose muted light-tan feathers contrasted sharply with the vivid color of her beak. Of course, I have no idea if she was a happy mother-to-be: I like to think she was, and in poetry we can take all kind of license and indulge in all kinds of pathetic fallacies! I liked the line very much, and wanted above all else to keep it–but then it was a tricky matter to fit the line into the narrative.
Most sincerely
Mary Jane