Simon Hunt

(For Colin)                       

He chased the cat from the second nest before
we knew the juncos had come back this spring.
September had left their first a broken ring
(how many nestlings we were never sure)
scattered on the ground. The haunting thing:
entangled in that cat-clawed wreck of nest
were wisps of blond first-haircut hair, the rest
pine needles, twigs and grass, a bit of string,
all scavenged from our yard — or so we guessed.
We swore last fall to keep a safer hedge,
to shield the young and buy them time to fledge.
And now we’re left three flightless birds: How best
protect them, even from our own son’s hand,
his hair now grown as brown and coarse as sand?

Simon Hunt teaches English in Monterey, California.  His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Troubadour, The Edge City Review, Court Green, The Sewanee Review, The Raintown Review, and The Chimaera, among others.