Feeding the birds

The woman in the next apartment
Is ninety-two years old
She feeds the birds in the communal gardens
The house martins and the swallows

They come onto our balcony
To build their nests under our shutters
And foul our furniture.

I put newspaper into the nooks and empty spaces
To discourage them
But occasionally we find a fallen nest and a broken egg
Or a baby bird with no chance of survival

When she was alive
My mother also fed the birds
The house martins and the swallows
She told me that we are all reincarnated as birds
And that one day
When I swoop low over the frost-blackened soil
I will be happy when someone feeds me

My father put newspaper into the nooks and empty spaces
To discourage them
But occasionally we would find a fallen nest and a broken egg
Or a baby bird with no chance of survival

Our genes are not resurrected as birds but
As our children
The genes get mixed up, but they live on,
Making the essential of us immortal

Our own molecules disperse and reform
Now a human, now a bird
I would like my molecules to become a tree
Not a bird

My mother also said that thunder is the noise
That clouds make when they bump into each other
In a storm

 

Author: Jonathan

After 37 years as a commodity trader and analyst, Jonathan Kingsman is now the editor of commodityconversations.com. Jonathan is married with four grown up children and lives in Lausanne Switzerland. He is the Editor of The Sugar Trading Manual and author of The Sugar Casino, Commodity Conversations and Godstone, his first novel.

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