wyrdwind

My love said to me

We’re two of a kind

And me mother did frighten

What shade caught my eye

Then he bolt awake from me

Walked some proper way

It will not be long love

Till our wedding day

.

He flew away from me

And his song filled the air

And fondly I watched him

Flit here and flit there

And he scant could remember

His wings were a pair

Lost all sense of direction

In the city glare

.

The people were saying

He drew blood in his bed

Burst bright plumes of she-down

Twixt thorns of his nest

And he wept when he saw me

Night fell factory to field

.

And that was the last

That they saw of my dear

.

One cold morning

Thick leaves o’er a den

So softly he entered

Tucked close to my breast

He slept fast my heartbeat

Assured of his place

It will not be long love

Till our wedding day

.

@~^~

Woke with this song randomly rattling about my skull. Alas, when I try to sing such things the lyrics are suddenly sinister. What’s meant to be wistful becomes menacing, longing becomes a direct demand. I guess that’s what happens when you spend your life filing your thoughts into prison shivs and don’t have the option of turning off your hoodrat subwoofer. So I leaned in.

Anyway, a while back the kids were learning music and my favorite godchild told me I sounded like forest protector Maleficent as a dragon. Except my husband is like…a tiny songbird that eats meat and acts all crazy and nobody understands him until I show up and suddenly it’s Game of Thrones. Kids say the darndest things. Turns out there is in fact a songbird that eats meat.

How did I roll all this shit together this morning? Read a piece about medieval noblewomen and their passion for falconry, and how they created and maintained parks and hunting grounds. So of course I got to thinking about the sexual dimorphism among birds of prey. Environmental degradation, the agency of women, etc etc etc.