Blue Jay

Everywhere I look I see a songbird

taking off, the sharp flutter

of wings, the swaying twigs

left behind. It is rare I spot

the bird, but the brief ecstasy

of color nicks my heart

just to see them fly.

Jays are some of the last

to return. The robins come first,

the cardinals, the blackbirds,

and finally, on May the thirteenth exactly,

I saw the sky take off in splendor

leaving the rushes to dance

the consequence.

A perched blue jay, Emily Jahn