“Birdwatching” by CD Eskilson

Now I’m a person who can spot a nuthatch, point to grosbeaks, have taught
myself the clowning chip of juncos at the window. Know a raven from a crow
and adore both. I owe that love to Arkansas. To think I never gawked
at life with wings before, had taken flocks for granted, and even thought

that birds were pesky. I wouldn’t let myself be charmed. I call home now
and recount grackles unsettling from fields, cowbirds inspecting how I walked
from the store. There’s flattery in scores of something watching, to have caught
their gaze. There’s a reason to survive. My doomscroll of news gets fought

off by caws and trills wary of my spiraling most days. A speckled hawk
and cardinal tell me what feathers think of drag bans. Last week I brought
my love to see confetti-specks of eagles glide, forgot to speak of feeling low.
The urge to peck flies from my wrists. And now I know I ought

to live with my eyes peeled for flight: grinning and eager, ready to talk
about the wonder I must stick around to see: to not feel sorry for it, no.

CD Eskilson is a trans-nonbinary poet and translator. They are a recipient of the C.D. Wright / Academy of American Poets Prize, and their work appears in Kenyon Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, The Offing, Passages North, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and others. Their debut poetry collection, Scream / Queen, is forthcoming from Acre Books this spring. They were once in a punk band.

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