For the Birds

by Chris Wood

 
Yellow blooms lace the tomato plant 
under a makeshift cage. It's Monday, 
the same cycle as last week 
from pillow to car to desk 
and back again. Barn swallows persist, 
build a nest over the front door 
leaving their mark on the welcome mat.
 
At lunch, two kids fidget in front of me. 
A woman paces back and forth 
between them and an old man 
perched at the first table. 
His mouth droops a little, left arm hangs limp. 
She speaks to him, slowly,
patient but insistent on getting his order. 
 
I watch the tender moment 
until one kid, pecking at the other, 
bumps into me, leaving a mark on my foot. 
I look to their mom who stares 
at the bright menu overhead. 
 
The clock ticks slowly through the afternoon, 
the commute even slower.
Lavender and mint fragrance my path
from the driveway to the porch. 
Basil and rosemary wisp, wave like candlelight 
glowing dark shadows against the soft brick.


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Chris Wood manages numbers by day, spends most evenings cleaning up dog hair from the abundance of love she receives from her fur-babies, and in between, she writes to balance her right brain from her left. She has a bachelor’s degree in accounting and works for a REIT. Her work has appeared in several journals and publications, including Black Moon Magazine and Salvation South. Learn more at chriswoodwriter.com.