When I woke up this morning
two birds were inside the cage of sticks
I’d struck in the ground for peas.
Below them, a green reception of wet vines.
Weeks before I’d gone into burnt pasture
and cut alders before they leafed.
I plumped cold ground.
I pressed cloudy seeds.
I swept away little stones.
Thank-you, fairy godmothers: I see
there are two pairs of finches now, dark and gold.

When I woke up this morning
two of us were caged inside my arms.
We had found a house.
We tucked us into bed.
We thickened my bones with flesh.
The baby journeyed from that far place
that exits between my legs.
When he suckles, milk gushes
from a fountain we’ve never seen.
In its valves the mothers sing
this body, so lucky is your beggary.

“On a Wing and a Prayer” by Judy Arsenault