The Lesson

A certain bird used to make the wrong sound.
Her keeper cried, Go lower, lower—your pitch
feels uncontained. The bird pressed her beak
to the keeper's cheek, puncturing his flesh
until a spot no bigger than an ant's abdomen,
no bigger than the period concluding his command,
appeared. The keeper mistook the act for kindness
and crooned, My love, my infant—try again.




Poem © Copyright by Maya Pindyck. All Rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of the author.