Licton Springs Review

Bushtit Poem By Vanessa Pepoy

Above my head two bushtits alight on a branch.
One examines the hollow end of a broken branch tip.
It darts its head like a darning needle,
teasing out clear filament with its beak.

As a child, I found beneath a Douglas fir a fallen treasure,
a pendulous, gourd – shaped hammock.
Moss, hair, lichen, lint bound in delicate steely strands.
Discovering a mermaid in a backyard puddle
could not have delighted me more.

Like a woman carding wool for her spindle,
this glorious strand-gathering weaver works the threads,
drawing out over and over the fine cobweb.