The Nest
By Kelly Jarvis
It appeared one morning as if by magic.
A womb wound tight with twigs and mud,
Sky-blue speckled eggs sparkling in the sun,
Perched precariously in the wreath that hung
On our front door.
I would lift my son, just three, to see the miracle.
Pink-skinned nestlings howling newborn cries,
Tilting their tiny heads as shadows crossed the sky,
To stare with wonder at his big brown eyes
And golden curls.
We were awakened each morning by their endless hunger.
Little boy blinking sleepily in the tender light of dusk.
“Why don’t you feed them their breakfast?” he asked,
As though my only purpose and task
Was to nourish the world.
Soon the threshold to our home was no longer our own.
Round wreath covered with droppings and grime,
Protective parents chirping, fledglings longing to fly,
Till we awoke one azure morning in the silence of sunrise
To find the nest was empty.
I do not know the life span of a robin,
How many years it has to send its song into the sweet spring air.
But I sometimes fancy that a red-breast stares
In wonder at a brown-eyed man with once golden hair,
Remembering.
Kelly Jarvis works as the Special Projects Writer for Enchanted Conversation: A Fairy Tale Magazine where she writes short stories, poems, essays, and book reviews. Her poetry has been featured in Blue Heron Review, Mermaids Monthly, and Eternal Haunted Summer, and her latest story was recently published in the anthology Mothers of Enchantment: New Tales of Fairy Godmothers by World Weaver Press. She teaches classes in literature, writing and fairy tales at Central Connecticut State University and Tunxis Community College.