You can tell I’m a magpie
by the pieces I carry:
the magpie, a collector,
a good-luck bird, full of words,
hiding in patterns
round ornate mirrors,
defining the features
on the reflecting face
in patchwork verse.
I gather shiny words
that combine like mirrors
and shuffle definitions:
Speculum:
Anatomy: an instrument that inspects,
like a beak;
Ornithology: the gleam on plumage,
such as a bird’s wings;
Optics: A reflector,
a mirrored surface
conveying an image.
I gather words like verse,
something made, arranged
integrating like feathers,
a glistening nest
of second-hand objects.
I pocket them in my head
for when I am hungry
for a poem.
Jessica Lee McMillan © 2021