by Kathy Miles
In his stern black feathers
he swifts from elm or oak
to claim his patch of seed.
His song drips into sluggish veins,
the fluency of music, as blackberries ripen,
dark and sleek as his body,
and rooks canvas the sky in late sun.
He chides the chough and jay who stray
into his territory. Feels the tightening
of light like a catch in the syrinx,
as evening unravels and dusk settles
down on fuschia and opening primrose.
This song is shared through generations,
a gift of merle, and he, proud of his heritage,
shouts it loudly from the branches,
from roof and chimney, heralds it
from blackthorne and rowan.
He offers this soliloquy to me,
the one who has stolen his land,
who does not sing the litany of dawn
or the last high notes of summer
but whose bread, hesitantly offered,
he takes as a mutual bond.
Kathy Miles is a poet and short story writer living in West Wales. She has published three collections of poetry: The Rocking Stone (Poetry Wales Press), The Shadow House, and Gardening With Deer (Cinnamon Press). She has been placed in several major competitions, winning the Welsh Poetry Competition in 2014, the Bridport Poetry Prize in 2015, and the PENfro Poetry Competition in 2016. She has just completed an MA in Creative Writing, and is a co-editor of The Lampeter Review.
