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Wendy Mulford


THE BULLFINCH & THE CELLO
Words for music perhaps 


It's you or the cello I said to the bullfinch
as  through one morning he importuned my window
perched on the door-handle& played -
it's the music-man, pierrot in disguise
Stravinsky & his mob.  I listened for the thrum
of the sacrifice, the missing car-beat, the sound  
of tyres returning -    
the notes that he wrote went missing  &
ripped out  my heart.  So I tore it in strips &
hung it up for the birds  to savour -

You did not wish to be left out
so I tore up more strips & hung them 
from the feeding-table  & I waited for 
your friends to come and join us
- but you my friend had forewarned them
- it's tough chewing.     Slowly they came
to the table ~  suspicion on their beaks ~ 
& there was no more music 
for music had stopped   &  words came slowly

:from all over the heath the small birds congregated
to share the communion of my heart
&  they came to partake of it  ~ & from my ribs 
we tore more flesh to sweeten the banquet
& ribs & heart hung out for the gathering of the birds
hurry! hurry!  you said 
let us eat your heart while it is still juicy
before the crow and the magpie  the seagull
the jay &  the jackdaw steal 
its withered strips

& when you had feasted your fill  
I hung up what remained to wither & cure
for the woodpecker  the jay 
 the hawk & the heron
& at the end of the feast they danced on my grave


Copyright Wendy Mulford 2013


also by Wendy Mulford: No More Parades; Trawls; A Slight Bemuse; Going "home"
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