Cunningham

Perched, a red-winged blackbird watching me,
its fencepost newly staked, bark on, topside down.

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At arm’s length, rusted fence pliers bounce along a span of wire.
One. Two. Three. “Hemlock, see, twists over time—”
that’s Cunningham’s voice, “stretches the wire.
Set one post wrong-way-to and it’ll sag right there.”

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Come a day I recall Seamus Heaney
and with newfound pride—my own name
and that red-winged blackbird there,
down Vernon River way.

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Seamus Heaney wrote a fabulous poem titled St. Kevin and the Blackbird.

2 Replies to “Cunningham”

  1. Very engaging. I transported into the scene you painted with these words.

  2. I found this fascinating!! You have quite a way with words Kevin!

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