That difficult winter when all the news
was bleak: jobs lost, scarcity found,
clouds so heavy their bellies
rested on the ridgeline, for weeks

a cold dogged me, my world, shrunken
to the size of a sinus, was nothing more
than sheer plod, into that thickness

a parrot landed on a broad twist of wisteria vine,
red-headed, green-cheeked prodigal
returned to survey what was left
of the nut brown world.

I crept into the yard, fearful
he might take flight but wearing
the frock coat I’d saved for such an occasion,

the one I’d sent to the cleaners years ago,
bagged and stored in the winter closet
behind the garden boots and umbrellas
for a day like this—

when the unexpected dropped feathers
in the mud of my yard
and I, open-armed,
was waiting.

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Listen to Maureen McQuerry read her poem here: