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Three Poems Barbara Smith RARE BIRD SIGHTED According to yesterday's Exponent, Grosbeaks are rare in West Virginia. Maybe so—there's only one traffic light In all of Barbour County, And these coalmine hills are not well known For prima ballerinas or for heads of state. But every winter day, Provided that I remember to bring The birdfeed from the basement, There comes a flock of forty-odd Black and white and yellow and big. And we take pictures to show the back home folks Who over the spectacle oh and ah— "Never saw such—" "Terrific!" "What did you say they're called?" You bet. Rare and show-off great On a still and silent screen. But I know better. Pure Hitchcock. Feather-covered horror with a cinemacolor beginning And a bloody-clawed end. And West Virginia has her share. Grosbeaks— Bigmouths. Side-show bullies Believing—actually—that sunflowers were created For the pleasure of their consumption. I see them grosbeaks every day—perched and pecking, So plump-prosperous that it takes two —One on each sideTo keep the free-hanging feeder from dumping its load. I watch them—like the warblers, the cock-eyed chickadees— From a safe and glassy distance, Hoping that the little guys will someday Have a chance. 40 I can hear them, too—squawking As ugly as they are beautifulSounding like a bunch of kings of the hills. A whole bunch of America-firsters. To tell the truth, grosbeaks aren't rare at all in West Virginia— They just wear lots of weird disguises Such as grey flannel suits (made in Pennsylvania) And mortar boards and hard hats And lapel pins looking like donkeys and elephants. Grosbeaks and mountain-bred ramps— You just have to know where to find 'em. BLUEBERRY BREAK This is not a day for scrubbing floors Or shining windows, Though there are days that are— That shine from the inside And lend themselves to scrubbing— But not today, Opening itself to skies without fingerprints, Creeks laughing, Hills innocent of feet other than ours, Winged and rooted in rock that blossoms into blueberries Reflecting themselves all over everywhere. CHANGES Whatever happened to porches, Neighbors who used to drop by To lemonade on the gray-painted steps With their smiling faces? Now we need an invitation. Fenced in for our protection, We pose, exposed to the sun-hinting haze On the plastic deck of a swimming pool Where there used to be grass And the big warm lap of a porch. 41 ...

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