How Wood Thrush
—for Ad Shaw 1931-2021
How a single wren still warbles on a topmost branch
of a swaying poplar tree
how dandelions still appear
like scattered suns across a grassy field
how the unknowing field rests, unmown,
and will remain long enough to host the nesting bobolink
how the steward of this land for many seasons
of late haying, leaf fall, ice and deep snow
how a dragonfly sips nectar from a flower,
pauses on my knee as if to speak
how my focus shifts to his old window
in the vale, just beyond the reedy pond—
how wood thrushes just returned
sing their liquid notes in hemlock woods’
cool shade, but return to silence
when the sun emerges from a cloud
how the day still breaks
into spring’s first heat
by Laura Foley
Editor’s Note: This elegy uses lovely, clear imagery as remembrance of a loved one, and it is this juxtaposition of life’s vibrancy to loss that sharply underscores the grief.
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