I sleep better here
though I yearn for my former home.
Here the fox stays mostly in his lair
beneath the rocks
and though the bigger birds
may puff their feathers and strut
with squawks and shrills that drown
the calls of sweeter birds
they will not savage me
or shred my nest.
Here too the air may be heavy
but only with the scents
of blossom and new-mown grass,
shadows may loom
but only as they lengthen
with the movement of the sun
as day rolls into night.
Listening to the still strange calls
each dusk and dawn
I’ve tucked my head beneath my wing
and not joined in
but today I feel my throat
begin to loosen into song
the iron that sheathed my feathers
soften and drop away
my wings lift.
by Lilian Cohen
Lilian Cohen is an Australian writer who spent most of her adult life in Israel. She recently returned to Australia for family reasons and the poem is based on my experiences on my return.
