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"I always report the truth with precision and accuracy. I loved the sparrow but I'm back north now and a titmouse is building a nest (I think) in the Redbud tree right over my head, and the poem I'm now writing is called 'Three Sharp Sounds.'"
Gerald Stern

The Sparrow

Gerald Stern, 1925

Here’s a common sparrow, a bit of a schnorrer
come to celebrate my 88th at
Whole Foods at 10th and Alton in
Miami Beach, a block away from where
my mother lived for 27 years,
the wrong end of Miami Beach then
but now the center; though she can hardly stay
for the party she is so busy with the cheese
which disentangled from the bread and one would
kiss her but she is partial to the bread
and has to fly away so she can eat
in secrecy which is a good enough gift
compared to the knowledge that I was common too
and if I eat from china I would just as soon
eat from paper—or plastic—the difference between
the sparrow and me is I need a solid plate
of some sort—even a leaf—a noble spine
and green in all directions and the smell of the
mother tree everywhere but I am slow now.

Copyright © 2013 by Gerald Stern. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on April 29, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Copyright © 2013 by Gerald Stern. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on April 29, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Gerald Stern

Gerald Stern

Gerald Stern was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in 1925. His recent books

by this poet

poem
How you loved to read in the snow and when your
face turned to water from the internal heat
combined with the heavy crystals or maybe it was
reversus you went half-blind and your eyelashes
turned to ice the time you walked through swirls 
with dirty tears not far from the rat-filled river
or really a mile away—
poem
The mayor, in order to marry us, borrowed
a necktie from a lawyer which, on him,
looked stupid and kept his eye on a red pigeon
which somehow got in to coo her disappointment,
if only for the record, though one of the two 
witnesses who kicked the red got only what
she deserved and that was that, except that the
poem
Of all sixty of us I am the only one who went 
to the four corners though I don't say it
out of pride but more like a type of regret,
and I did it because there was no one I truly believed 
in though once when I climbed the hill in Skye
and arrived at the rough tables I saw the only other
elder who was a