I had surgery on Monday to pin my ankle back together. Everything went well, I guess. I don’t remember much of it, thanks to some very good drugs. Someone dressed me in a paper gown that had an air hose attached to it, blowing warm air up my crotch and over my chest. It felt pretty good. My voice is hoarse today so I’m assuming they put me completely out and inserted an air tube down my throat. The ankle hurts quite a bit, even with narcotics, and I am supposed to keep my leg elevated above the level of my heart unless I get up to the pot by the couch. Tom continues to cook for me, keep ice on the ankle and track my medications. A good mate is a blessing.
There is a cherry tree outside my living room window so I can watch the birds come to the bird feeder. I found this poem several months back and have been waiting for a chance to share it. It really is addressed “for Carol”.
Cardinals
for Carol
I had seen them in the tree,
and heard they mate for life,
so I hung a bird feeder
and waited.
By the third day,
sparrows and purple finches
hovered and jockeyed
like a swarm of bees
fighting over one flower.
So I hung another feeder,
but the squabbling continued
and the seed spilled
like a shower
of tiny meteors
onto the ground
where starlings
had congregated,
and blue jays,
annoyed at the world,
disrupted everyone
except the mourning doves,
who ambled around
like plump old women
poking for the firmest
head of lettuce.
Then early one evening
they came,
the only ones—
she stood
on the periphery
of the small galaxy of seed;
he hopped
among the nuggets,
calmly chose
one seed at a time,
carried it to her,
placed it in her beak;
she, head tilted,
accepted it.
Then they fluffed,
hopped together,
did it all over again.
And filled with love,
I phoned to tell you,
over and over,
about each time
he celebrated
being there,
all alone,
with her.
by John L. Stanizzi
