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John Poch

  • PoetryOctober 5, 2000

    House Finches

    To watch the pair of house finches
    that frequent the neighbor's feeder,
    I leave the charcoal blinds pulled up.
    The berry-splashed chest of the male--

    each morning--makes me pause.
    He flits away when full, or troubled
    by the cat behind the window pane.
    But he's back again within the hour.

    Evenings, we owe our different debts
    to the woman who fills the feeder tray,
    who also chooses open blinds
    and wanders room to room, past

    the long blue light of the aquarium.
    (She caught me watching yesterday.)
    The fish, from here, are almost still,
    a drifting string of colored lights.

    Her boyfriend's echoes of her name
    reverberate and scare the cat;
    bird seed scatters with the flight
    of startled finches. Sunflower seeds,

    far from the flower they once composed,
    lie like black collapsed stars.

    John Poch