Two Doves in a Tree
A poem for the gray wings
Lately, we’ve noticed our two doves
making their home in a crowded pear tree.
They swoop in, one after the other,
to a limb deep and hidden among the leaves.
We walk by the tree with our dog on a leash.
We hear the sudden ruffle of wings.
The sound is full and fast, abrupt and loud.
If we don’t hurry by, they will be flying out.
They seem to be finicky old birds.
They like their privacy quite a lot.
Anytime we walk too close,
you guessed it: a sudden, scary ruffle.
At the end of the day, we may be found
sitting in chairs in the shade of that tree.
Someone stands too quickly,
or an unexpected burst of laughter
will bring them out in a hurried fashion.
They coo loudly as they take their flight.
I think sometimes they may wish
for us to simply be on our way,
to leave our house,
let our yard stand empty,
leaving them, of course, together,
unbothered in their chosen tree.
