On this day, a little dove endeavors
to build her spring nest in the eaves of my front porch.
I have chased her off twice,
not wanting the mess birds make so close to my front door,
but she is diligent in her task and will not be thwarted.
Her desires to create a home for her future brood
stronger than any fear I have created.
I listen to the rustle of her wings throughout the day,
her little song as she works to create the weaving.
Her inexperience shows, each effort succeeding
only in creating a pile of fallen sticks on my stoop.
I empathize that she must be frustrated,
not having placed a single bough,
yet she continues,
undeterred in her desire for this spot to call home.
The energy of the day, this little mourning dove
reminds me of my youth,
desperate desires for motherhood,
dashed as often as her construction.
I gave up on any possibilities for myself,
perhaps this is why I decided to allow her to remain.
Her pink feet landing on the beam, hopeful rod in beak
placed, as she alights again into the air,
it teeters and falls to the concrete below;
a sad omen for any eggs she might chance to lay there.
Why can she not read this premonition?
The landscape is filled with Mesquites awaiting her architecture,
yet she persists outside my door.
Every minute or so returning—
eagerly planted for a beginning,
for a chance at motherhood.
2016 copyright by Katie Pifer witchpetals.wordpress.com