sisters and sparrows

Birds by Frieda Hughes

A follow-up post on Ted Hughes - this is a poem by Frieda Hughes, his and Sylvia Plath’s daughter… I have to admit to being utterly fascinated by the whole family. 

Flip-top with brain
At the beak back.
Mouth so wide open
Houses would disappear.
Continents cringe, curl their toes
And hang on to their oceans.

Maw with a jaw as wide
As whatever enters. Small mice,
Large cats, or middle-size rats
With twisted whiskers.
Its call hallows the black
That brings silence.

And the body bears feathers
In its quiet. Its little soul sleeps,
So small in its twigs.
If it yawns, or belches,
There is a city in there,
With its lights on.