Poem #100 of 365

I weave tender bits of straw
into my promised nest,
embed crushed tinfoil onto the rim
to reflect sunlight into eyes
of unwanted suitors.

You, above all others, insist to
visit my eggs, crowd us
in our tree perch,
and I almost consent
to let you.

At the outset, I detested
the scent of pine cones
and would have no
thing to do with nesting here,

but Mt. Sopris is where
my bluejay days need
to be lived, and so far
I'm accommodating well.

I see you watching from
the other tree, the canopy
houses so many of us,
I wonder how we can keep
our birdsongs from clashing.

Fly, fly to the upper branch,
spill down your gifts,
we still lack the red
silk yarn for this nest.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez