by Jill Crainshaw
I
mama cardinal studies me as i stand
in rain-wet morning sunlight
i see fire flash in her feathers
when she flits and flashes
from fencepost to flaming forsythia
nesting in preparation for whatever
springtime color waits to touch the earth
II
sepia-soaked scrapbooks ensconce
human fragilities exposed
i study faces retreating from
fiery colors of aliveness buried
in catacombs where mortal coils
were torn away too soon from butterflies
waiting even now to meet the sunrise
III
night settles down into streets emptied
of laughing children and lingering lovers
spinning cocoons to hide fragile dreams
while the world shuts out a sinister stalker
a brave pinion pushes open a window
slips a lonely song into the silence and hope
throbs in voices that swell together on the breeze
IV
backyard cardinals carry
springtime rhythms in their beaks
wrens domicile in the abandoned eaves
of the church belfry next door
and we humans study yet again how to
weave into our nests fiery threads of hope
longing to color unsettled nights with song
Jill Crainshaw is an ordained minister in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and a liturgical theology professor at Wake Forest University School of Divinity in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
