by Cam Finch
for eric, and the birds
I feel the swifts coming
my bones are flowering with portent
and the clouds are
breathing signals again
it is time for us to count it is time for us to count
***
from our perch on the slide
we lift our lenses to the great chimney
there they are there they are
impish cigars with wings
the chimney swifts! the chimney swifts!
time for our annual reunion
they’ve been disappearing
every year we count more chimneys capped
more windows smashed
more hungry cries
more pesticides
the winters are so damn hot the summers are so damn hot
they’ve been disappearing
and we are watching and we are watching
with binoculars at our faces
gouging rings around our eyes
we are marked by our witnessing
i’ll be your witness i’ll be your witness
yes, isn’t that how James Baldwin said
is one way to love each other
the night is long.
the wind is everywhere
and everything moves.
it’s hard to see past the insect clouds.
i’m itching my back.
everything impossible to track.
what terrible watchmen we are.
i think i don’t belong on the ground.
yet, here we are, our bellies marking their shape
in the grass,
we become a channel,
from chimney to earth.
can’t you see?
i carry a chimney in me! i carry a chimney in me!
for a moment, my belly widens
to chimney
can you imagine that swell?
how i open my mouth to give the birds a home
a safe place to roost
come here, come here come here, come here
let me count you so i know you’re alive.
why did we embark on this
impossible task?
because they are swifts.
because we are we. because we are we.
if we grow so large, think of how many we could hold?
is that all we can do?
is this poem, a fantasy, a wish enough?
it is not
it’s a start
we are marked by our witnessing
rings around our eyes
we are alive. are they alive?
we won’t disappear them
we will not look away
we are not like wind chimes
who touch, and then part
***
have you ever heard a swift call out?
their chirps fluttering down like pamphlets
i’m dreaming here:
of when we are chimney
when it rains
you can hear them echoing
inside us
maracas of bird seed whooshing down our throats
yes, we will hold them close
the swifts, warm in our bodies
until the day we don’t, when the darkness ends
and like a milkweed, slit me and the birds will fly out
like soft fanatical beans
falling from the pod
we’ll send them again on their way
away, they will always have a home in us
***
but oh, the other day,
the place where we waited
for their valiant return
it’s all been razed now.
destruction decades in the making.
only a chimney stands in
asbestos wasteland.
a hand borne from brick, a hand borne from brick,
sprigging skyward
swiftward, it says:
find me, I am still here. find me, I am still here.
every morning, we open
our eyes to more rubble.
i ask you:
do you think they’ll return here?
i say:
i have to believe yes, yes.
and we go to the chimney
you and i
my dear witness
we come closer, speak to it
this belly that’s us and not us
come home come home
come home come home
we whisper to the swifts
so far away
let us count you let us count you
so we know you’re alive. so we know you’re alive.
still standing. photo credit by c. finch
***
Cameron (Cam) Finch is a reader, writer, editor, creative, lover of trees, and the organizer of PoetTreeTown. “Counting the Swifts With You: A Poem for Two Voices” was inspired by Cam’s participation in several annual Chimney Swift Counts in Ann Arbor with their love. This poem expresses the miracle of witnessing hundreds of swifts coming home to roost, the grief felt as swift numbers have decreased 75% over the last 50 years, and how we are inextricably connected to the birds and this tender and resilient land. What will we give back to them?
***
This is an original poem, brought to you by Poet Tree Town, a community poetry-in-public initiative and celebration of local Washtenaw poets. Find out more about Poet Tree Town on Instagram and Facebook, or say hello at [email protected].
