T.

Regret
--in memory, Mark Benchley Anderson
September 28, 1956-November 22, 2003

I have to tell you:
the starlings returned
to nest in the eaves
where you neglected repair.
You never loved them,
yet last year waited to roust
the messy twig and mud jumble
until each fledgling soared
clear of gutter and roof.
Grumbling, glad to be done,
this was your unmentioned gift
and I never thanked you.

Soon summer will spread its benevolent wing
over this unfinished house
where porches and railings
await the carpenter’s hammer and nail.
Our children — nearly men —
will desire to roam the city all night,
and I’ll let them go
one feather at a time,
always holding back
and then releasing, alone now
instructing in the mechanics of flight.