Cardinal

dedicated to my husband

In nature, the males are lovelier & thisundazzling little scrapper is a she—

a cardinal, I think, dusted redacross the crest & wings, a printer’s error,

the ink cellars dry after a run of males’immaculate, scarlet, fussy hearts. I’ve been

married a year & happy. Certain thingsare risibly, twistedly clear: attractive men

don’t magically disappear, though what it’s like—it’s like the trick where a friend instructs you close

your eyes & you hear a quick, evaporative sound(a flaring match) & she says OK, I’m burning

the back of your neck. You squeal because it scalds,but it’s only ice. It’s all the same to a nerve;

look, when the cardinal comes to take a crumbout of my palm, she doesn’t steal my hand.