Birds both in leather 

I drove into the Whole Foods parking lot, a black bulge 

of weather rolling in over the mountains, Led Zeppelin 

turned up loud as I could get it (“When the Levee Breaks”) 

and slammed into I thought an empty space 

except for a bird sitting in a bush, looking me right in the eye. 

She didn’t move, I turned off the music, and the car. 

She cocked her head left, then right. I kept quiet. 

I got out of the car way more gentle than I usually do, 

came around the car door softly; she watched me move. 

The bird was propped up on a green-gone-brown limb 

and she was not getting ready to fly; trusting me as I got closer, 

I don’t know why; this was all making me softer— 

the bird watching me, trusting me, I don’t know why. 

The granola crowd was glaring, going into the store, 

still mad at me for the loud rock and roll; I was melting. 

The bulge of weather overhead was about to unload, 

the granola shoppers went shopping; I saw that the bird’s back leg 

was caught on the strap of an old abandoned purse, 

leather rotting, trashed-out, but still holding down her down.  

I got low, close, real tender, touched the strap, and just barely, 

freeing her leg instantly, I hoped not hurting her, but the bird

—a she or a he bird, either way we were birds of a feather—

went on looking at me, and still she didn’t immediately fly away. 

Then she did, she flew, and she was gone. 

I lost my train of thought, and the shopping list. 

I was thrown and touched by the entire moment, 

got back in the car, caught the tail of my leather jacket 

on the door, going too fast, forgetting for a second my new soft thing, 

then I slid in my Norah Jones CD and drove away from the storm.