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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