by Elizabeth Domenech
Hand hovering the backdoor handle, I startled
at the sight of the chickadee splayed out
on the slatted grill table in the garden.
She fanned first her wings, then her tail,
bowed her head and shimmied her body
to settle into the pose,
pink gland still pulsing post-coital.
She glimpsed me through the glass
and still she stayed a blissed-out moment longer
in this fullest expression of her body.
And just when I started to worry,
she flew to to the string lights to preen,
glancing over her shoulder as if to say,
on this first day after the flood—
Isn’t this sunlight worth savoring?
Isn’t this body worth relishing?
