Charlotte Moore
Because I have this reason that I have. And it is sad
To me now to remember the day in April on which
I decided it wasn’t going to cut it, really, being scared.
I think, when I am being honest. I was never afraid. I was guilty.
I felt shame when I heard the wings bend and sharpen.
Did not want to provoke any beak stab any feather flap any squawk
Or swift flight because I think, when it comes to city birds especially,
I am guilty of a human’s attitude: dismissive of the other. I feel shame
Because I feel suspicion which turns to fear. But I wouldn’t feel that. If I was nice.
But then, somebody you admire arrives in a very good hat.
With a voice exactly like moss, a laugh like barbed wire
And brings flowers, and is wearing layers upon layers like
Helena Bonham Carter, then. You say alright bring the seed let’s go
And you stand as she calls them from all over, to land on her arms her head
Her hands her chest her shoulders. It is like that scene from Mary Poppins.
It is a very warm and startling thing, like spilling hot chocolate down your sleeve
Because you are gesticulating too much at the Christmas Market.
But you don’t even shake it off because, well, you are holding the cup.
So you just smile secretly and keep talking. You feel like. All of a sudden, yes
It is very obvious to me, pigeons are alright. And even good. And you are sorry.
Charlotte Moore is a poet from Lisburn living in Dublin. She was co-editor of Icarus Magazine 23-24, and has had work published in Icarus, The Martello Journal and The Madrigal Press.
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