- Lifted
Cardinals, finches, chickadees flock to our feeders. Up to four thousand featherson each bird's little body. On a tundra swan: twenty-five thousand. "Light as a feather,"we like to say, as opposed to "this too too solid flesh," or my stiff and creakingjoints. But even dry feathers aren't so light. Headdresses Las Vegas show girlswear will hold two thousand plumes, weigh twenty pounds. All the rage, feathers,especially for hats in the late nineteenth century. Women's toques were even toppedwith stuffed whole birds. In 1886, on the streets of New York, Frank Chapmancounted over forty species of feathers on bonnets, caps, cloches, down brims. I guesswe earthbound humans have always yearned to fly. I'm no Icarus, but oh, how I wishI could transform my flabby arms into wings. Last June as I stepped onto a GulfCoast pier, I stopped. Two yards down on the wooden slats stood a great blueheron. We stared at each other for, I swear, ten minutes, before he opened wide hislong wings and, shrieking, flew off to a hill beyond, a sight staying with me whereverI drop my feet. Sometimes when I'm happy, I'll flap my arms. Just feeling that motionmakes me smile. During Brahms's Fourth [End Page 356] Symphony last night, as I leaned my aching backagainst the concert hall's padded seat, the violinists' bows rose like feathery quills, anda thousand listeners sprouted wings. [End Page 357]
wendy barker's seventh collection of poems is Gloss. Her sixth collection, One Blackbird at a Time, won the John Ciardi Prize for Poetry. She has also published chapbooks and has poems in numerous journals and anthologies, including The Best American Poetry 2013. She teaches at the University of Texas at San Antonio.