Utu Man (5) Bird of Happiness

My grandfather's
Bird of Happiness
hovers under the ceiling
on a gut string.

The air is still,
but the Bird is stirred
by the invisible
demon, rocking it
with his cold
hands.

This Bird is old.
Full many years
have brushed past it
and left on its wings
hoary locks of moss.

I think of my grandfather
balancing on a bench,
raising the Bird to the ceiling,
gasping and grunting,
not knowing which
of the two hooks to choose.

His choice was wise,
as the other hook
has long since fallen out:
that would be bad luck.

As it happens,
there is no dark cloud
above our house.
My father has many goats
and six cows,
my grandfather is
safe in his night,
and all his children survived.

None of them loses heart,
watching how the Bird
of Happiness is falling apart,
seeing the mould
choke it by the throat,
spongy silence sprout
in its ochrous beak
and the ceiling above it
soften and leak.

Вланес, 2008

Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 790 № 60261 от 23.03.2008

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