Isn’t there a bird (what’s its name?)
that collects blue
things—bottle cap, rubber band,
bits of broken
cups—to make an elaborate, sparkling
blue nest on the ground. At
a meeting, a woman spoke of
her brother, who’d just
she said she knew it was God’s
will. We all want to be held
a little higher. Bower
bird, that’s the name, it gathers
all that blue
& arranges it into a nest
to make the beloved, of course,
want to stay.
Copyright © 2019 Nick Flynn. This poem was originally published in Quarterly West. Used with permission of the author.
Born in 1960, Nick Flynn is the author of the poetry collections My Feelings (Graywolf Press, 2015), The Captain Asks for a Show of Hands (Graywolf Press, 2011), Blind Huber (Graywolf Press, 2002), and Some Ether (Graywolf Press, 2000), which was the recipient of the PEN/Joyce Osterweil Award.
Date Published: 2019-01-08
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/gods-will