birdmother

i talked once to
your birdmother
she was a passenger pigeon
and i could not see any more ash
on her ash feathers
i ate from kitchen pans
and thought she was well-seasoned

but that was long ago
now i am jealous in sakura branches
too familiar with my nectar you obsess
i obsess your unpainted landscapes
the way you unravel the earth
in its mirth
in words, in dirt, in hurt

my mother is a
nightingale
who flew across a lyre
and i ate off the air
and thought the pain was losing hunger

but sometimes i think to your birdmother
who, aiming to raise her sun
fed you pieces she bit
off the moon