Bluebird

artwork by sunita khedekar

Bluebird

Bluebird said to me, “get up,

my grandchild, it is dawn”.

--Navajo song.

Bluebird was the town,
not found on any map.

“Happiness found here.”

read the sign along the country lane

where one entered, and

“May happiness accompany you

upon leaving; thanks for sharing--

come again.”  read the hand-painted

sign as one exited. 

“What a presumptuous place I thought,”

Why had the blue bird captured the laurel

of happiness, from the Tang Dynasty to

Dorothy warbling about rainbow riding;

why not a red bird, a yellow bird?

B.B. King doesn’t sing about happiness

when he sings the blues.

On the day I visited, there had been

a vicious thunderstorm dogging me

for hours, & yet within the township,

there was only sunshine, warmth,

fellowship, a song on every lip;

Every house & building was painted

in bright cheerful colors, rainbow-drenched,

electric, shimmering, crushing cynicism,

dodging depression; it was like strolling

the streets of Brigadoon.

In a cove, somewhere on a seashore,

built on the banks of a beautiful blue lagoon,

with seafood restaurants, fish shops,

and sailor lore everywhere along the west side,

dozens of fishermen’s dories stacked

in the white sand, yellow-blue fishing nets

drying over racks in the steaming sun--

and everywhere

               there were wonderful

                                blue kites of all sizes, 

all of them winged,

                               like azure eagles, 

                           cobalt hawks, 

                indigo owls, 

drifting in the warm thermals, 

shaking 

their silken blue tails 

vigorously.

There were three strange blue birds

wandering about town, tame as chickens,

proud as peacocks, part parrot, part jay,

fanning their aquamarine tail feathers 

joyfully--

their voices seductive, 

their songs siren-like; 

rich, syrupy 

& eerie.

After a few stolen hours

I could not bear another moment

of beauteous blue-bliss--

God, I actually missed

my natural negativity,

my sinful sarcasm, so

I zipped up my black slicker

& thrust myself headlong

back into the storm,

back into

the real world,

& oddly as I sped out of Bluebird,

gleefully greeting the grayness,

I felt genuine relief, not remorse;

for one needs the darker shades too

it seems, as day must have night,

in order to be 

whole, 

complex,

complete,

human. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

Would you like to hear the author read this poem to you?