Rained In At The Jetty Motel, Cape May Poem by Anne Higgins

Storm drenching the dry coast,
give me your clammy hand!
If I could hear your kiss
on the back of the peregrine,
I would sing until the sky turned green
and laugh like a cricket cough,
but rain's no hesitation.
Ships wrestle with the message,
the woman at Cape May sits by the window;
the eye knows why she waits inside.

She recalls her last October
in the sacred wood: Yellowrumped Warblers and their cousins,
clicking their fall ticks and busy eating,
fluttered around behind her and above her,
stopping to look right at her.

October in Cape May is different from September,
and every day is different.
Every night, songbirds rise and fly south.
Every morning, new ones land and settle for the day.
So she goes back, over and over, to see who has arrived.
She loves to be alone in the silent wood,
alone except for the busy birds.

Grounded flyer, take your leave.
Carry those nests in your calendar
where each day will remind you that this one
belonged to the robin, this one to the crow.
It's as simple as dust,
as fickle as flies furrowing into the winter.
When we blame the weather, we blame tomorrow.