Providence

Sometimes it’s the shadow

of zestful wings

against our drawn brown curtains,

other times the short, high,

insistent call

that catches our attention,

letting us know they are here,

the familiar pair

of tiny olive-backed sunbirds,

to build their hanging nest

just outside

our third-story bedroom window.

They weave their bowl-shaped home

from all things threadbare:

fibers, feathers, twigs,

and bits of silver tinsel

glinting sunlight—

whatever they can find.

We celebrate their work

with wordless gazes:

songs amidst our storm.

They cannot comprehend

the things we grieve

on this side of the glass,

the problems far too heavy

for even us,

strong as we are, to carry.

And yet their coming and going,

their bright notes,

their dwelling built from all

that You, Creator, have given

to sustain them

in this world of cars and concrete,

sustains us, gives to us

the simple joy

of seeing how you care

for them and for their young—

and care for us,

who know you only dimly

through the glass.

issue: Toil
10 of 42