The Lie of Honeymoon Yellow by Toby Cogswell

She sits in the pea-green leather chair,

stares out the beveled glass

of the front door, watches the nest

under her eaves for activity.



The father bird has been with her

since long before the divorce.

He remains constant, splattered

circles dried on the steps of her porch

are like love letters encompassing

the mother bird and her. She steps



around them and even when they fester

in the blistering summer, she does not

kick them away.



In the nest of twigs and buds she sees

flashes of grey, watches the father bird

careen off the porch light to the nest

to drop of his cargo again and again.

She does not move a muscle; customary

nervous and alone habits on hold.



In another week she’ ll choose new colors

to paint the house. She does not want

to come home to a façade of “Honeymoon

Yellow” anymore. She will make

an exception only for her father bird

and his family; the eaves above the front

door will remain.


Art:: Lisa Cihlar, Watercolor on Card, 2022

All Rights Reserved--2007-2024