Blackpoll

Once, I rescued a frail creature
from the neighbor’s goliath
tabby: Not fully black,
but black-and-white pied, the bird—
a minuscule finch or black-
poll—fluttered against the paws.

I trapped the cat’s nape,
lifted the bird as if she were a cherished
wish, coaxed her to flee.
Woozy, she wobbled
to the trees, flitting and resting
at heart-level till she again
found her height.

A samaritan’s reward is her rescuee’s
health… I didn’t grudge the tabby
either, his natural drive. But next day,
arriving home from work,
three small pied birds, kinswomen,
no doubt, of the first,
attended on my front steps.
They rose in unison at my greeting,
wove three quick circles around me
in avian pageant, and shyly fled.