Felicia Mitchell
Bourée with Goldfinch
In the morning,
I threw sunflower seeds
onto the porch
and left them there,
temperature dropping,
as I did my chores.
Sweeping, dusting,
washing—it was all a dance,
the dance I do at home
alone with chores.
As cold as it was,
I took compost outside too.
It was for the earth or crows,
whichever took it first,
and also for me,
a reason to stand at a bare beech
that towered over me
and look up, praying.
Later, dusting piano keys,
I began touching them,
one and then the other,
until I sat down with a bourée
Bach wrote for his children.
It was simple and sweet,
and it made a goldfinch pause
just outside the window
as I played a dance
even birds can dance to.
The goldfinch stayed
until I started a minuet,
a faster tempo lifting its wings,
and then I got up to vacuum.
Evening Reverie
Across the road,
across from my house,
children are playing
with twilight, holding out their hands
to see if fireflies will fall into them
like shooting stars.
Their dog, tethered, barks
until they set him free
and still he barks, a sentinel,
circling the children,
Night is falling on this road,
and there are bears in the world,
and also coyotes and pedophiles,
but these children fear nothing.
Their laughter is fairy dust
that wafts across the street
and makes me smile
in the face of this evening’s news,
the wrens who lost their eggs to a bear,
and the fact that night will fall
just surely as fireflies lift up their lights
into the night sky.
Felicia Mitchell, a native of South Carolina, has made her home in rural southwestern Virginia since 1987. She teaches English and creative writing at Emory & Henry College. Her recent poetry collection is Waltzing with Horses (Press 53). feliciamitchell.net.
Bourée with Goldfinch
In the morning,
I threw sunflower seeds
onto the porch
and left them there,
temperature dropping,
as I did my chores.
Sweeping, dusting,
washing—it was all a dance,
the dance I do at home
alone with chores.
As cold as it was,
I took compost outside too.
It was for the earth or crows,
whichever took it first,
and also for me,
a reason to stand at a bare beech
that towered over me
and look up, praying.
Later, dusting piano keys,
I began touching them,
one and then the other,
until I sat down with a bourée
Bach wrote for his children.
It was simple and sweet,
and it made a goldfinch pause
just outside the window
as I played a dance
even birds can dance to.
The goldfinch stayed
until I started a minuet,
a faster tempo lifting its wings,
and then I got up to vacuum.
Evening Reverie
Across the road,
across from my house,
children are playing
with twilight, holding out their hands
to see if fireflies will fall into them
like shooting stars.
Their dog, tethered, barks
until they set him free
and still he barks, a sentinel,
circling the children,
Night is falling on this road,
and there are bears in the world,
and also coyotes and pedophiles,
but these children fear nothing.
Their laughter is fairy dust
that wafts across the street
and makes me smile
in the face of this evening’s news,
the wrens who lost their eggs to a bear,
and the fact that night will fall
just surely as fireflies lift up their lights
into the night sky.
Felicia Mitchell, a native of South Carolina, has made her home in rural southwestern Virginia since 1987. She teaches English and creative writing at Emory & Henry College. Her recent poetry collection is Waltzing with Horses (Press 53). feliciamitchell.net.