Bowerbird | nursery rhymes
bowerbird, bowerbird, what hath you in your nest?
Bowerbird, bowerbird,
what hath you in your nest?
feathers from a baby sparrow,
a rotten quiver-full o’ arrows,
how absurd!
Bowerbird, bowerbird,
what hath you in your nest?
handful of emerald beetles,
a bloodied cloth-and-needle,
of which we folks unheard.
Bowerbird, bowerbird,
what hath you in your nest?
Why now, do not shun me hither
I caught you sulking ‘round town,
just yonder the hill,
thither.
But what’s the wrong with hiding
the things and people we adore?
Away from probing eyes,
uncalled for.
How now, no need to pout,
I’ll be off in a flash,
I’ll be gone for good,
I’ll be out.
Bowerbird, bowerbird,
I know you’re still listening,
but look!
what is that in the brush,
a-glistening?
A ring-finger
by the side of your bower it lingers.
spooling a puddle of red.
Bowerbird?
I have been receiving strange dreams lately. No, not dreams: nightmares. A lean figure with the features of a monstrous bird comes to me every night. His form changes with each passing, but I knew it was the same in every scene because of that dreadful cooing one would expect from a nurturing mother-bird.
This may sound arcane and horrible; but I am not afraid, only shaken. For this avian curiosity, whatever it may be, feels overwhelming but understanding. Almost as if we were old friends, or that we once held something together in another time.
It is strange because I can scarcely remember my dreams, but I recall my nightmares as vivid as if I had lived through them.
anyhow, I must try to make sense of the fragments I remember: like this one.
hush, the night is silent now, and so is my mind.
-v.
