Lockdown Mornings. A Poem by Marie Studer

March mornings
Magpie perches on the garage gable, surveys lefts and right
and swoops to swipe a chunk of canned mush from feline dish.
With clenched knuckles I rap on the pane, utter a loutish
get away, get away – fear of new and ingrained sorrow.
Black cobalt wings to oak bare limbs to enter sideways a nesting home.

May mornings
I recline in swivel chair. Repast done, Magpie manoeuvres like a Cuban eight,
and soars to the architectural nest, curtained by shimmering fresh green oak.

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