By Ellis Light
Two bluejays in a spruce – or maybe three –
This morning, a red-shouldered hawk in flight.
Months since I started on progestin pills: sixty.
They eased the pain of periods, so I might
not miss three days of work a month. Now, three
weeks until my first testosterone consult.
I quit the pills five months ago.
The cramps snatch at me with their awful teeth:
my back, mid-section, and my breasts bound tight.
The pain is so intense I cannot sleep.
A rush of starlings whirls and alights,
veers toward the Catskills, then are gone.
It's up to me to free the bluebird I have felt inside
my heart for years. Crow's clothes are not for me.
Nor will I be a phoenix, dying in the night
and coming back at dawn, dramatically.
Still, change is coming – fast and soon.
Last week I saw a hermit thrush soar high,
a dark-eyed junco tasting strange new seeds.
These seem a better metaphor for T.