The Catbird (John James Audubon), Sonnet #468

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My Human Disguise.


















As if ashamed of its homely feathers,

The cowbird disowns its young in the nest.

In those it didn’t build it abandons 

An egg among the eggs of its betters,

Who raise the cowbird along with the rest.

(The intruder will steal from the small ones.)

Parents who can identify their own,

Catbirds fling the parasites out like stones.

They mew incessantly, then sing countless

Notes per minute — clucks, whines, gurgles, clicks, squawks,

Imitations of other birds but hawks.

Even more than most, the catbird’s restless;

Endlessly curious or vigilant,

It flies — the only time it is silent.

VILLANELLE

The moment passed and I forget

The reason why or what I meant

In the exact instant I let

It go like a blank letter sent

To someone I don’t remember.

Even Now is an old event,

Both a flaming and an ember.

To hold, even touch, is to burn

Like September in December.

It takes but a second to learn,

What no-one else will ever know,

That all I am will soon return

If I stand not still but think slow,

Say nothing, and as if asleep,

Allow myself to come and go.

Instead, I cannot help but leap

Ahead to what’s to come and let

My self reach for what it can’t keep,

Moments I already forget.