Produced by Dennis Camire
This week’s poem is by Linda Aldrich of Cape Elizabeth. Her most recent book is “March and Mad Women,” published by Cherry Grove Press.
By Linda Aldrich
“When we examine a nest,
we place ourselves at the origin
of confidence in the world.”
A vireo’s nest, tiny and perfect, woven
of pine needles, strips of birch bark,
and a thin piece of white string
threaded from top to bottom.
The bird’s signature,
the way Navajo women sign rugs.
I look into the empty cup as though
to read tea leaves. Sometimes
I crawl in to feel Braille
on my back. Letters bending,
each needle a work of circle-making,
the round room we yearn for,
the swaying rock-a-bye and cradle croon.
My mother wrote her name in cursive
thousands of times on yellow legal pads,
as if to bring herself more into this world
by signing up for it, as if by letting
the still strange letters of her married
name become more rounded, more
comfortable walking their green
tightropes, she might finally
come all the way home to us,
where we waited in vain
for the circle of her arms.
Dennis Camire can be reached at email@example.com