Poem of the week: Birder by Gwyneth Lewis

The former national poet of Wales commemorates her aunt in a bright and lively elegy that sees birds play metaphorical and metamorphic roles

Birder

(i.m. my aunt Megan 1924-2009)

I

Midwinter, season for seeing through

Time and space. Before the War,

You were ‘sparrow’. Now I hear

Geese in your breathing, oboe sighs.

Overhead they’re leaving too. Each bird’s

A letter, making sense

For a moment, then not. Cirrus of snow

Lays over the woods. Sluggish

With ice, the creek’s pulse slows.

II

Morning performance on the stage

Under the feeder. Enter wild turkeys,

A corps de ballet in copper tutus.

Solo of startle – entrechat, entrechat,

Pas de bourées – then the tom

Leads off his harem, one by one,

No curtsey, no curtain call. Then gone.

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