Elizabeth G. Howard

—
I don’t think the woodpecker cared
That I strained but could not
Hear her
Over the wheel river of minivans
Flooding down the
Back road toward the
Little neighborhood school.
My girl and I stopped our walk
To spot the bird
At work
High up in the
Still-naked bough. We saw her
But could not hear
No, could not hear her,
Knock, knock knocking
On a branch
For her breakfast, no
Neither could we hear the
Diving chickadees or
The curdled call of the
Scurrying morning doves.