Nest

By Marianne Boruch b. 1950 Marianne Boruch

I walked out, and the nest

was already there by the step. Woven basket

of a saint

sent back to life as a bird

who proceeded to make

a mess of things. Wind

right through it, and any eggs

long vanished. But in my hand it was

intricate pleasure, even the thorny reeds

softened in the weave. And the fading

leaf mold, hardly

itself anymore, merely a trick

of light, if light

can be tricked. Deep in a life

is another life. I walked out, the nest

already by the step.

Poem copyright © 1996 by Marianne Boruch, whose most recent book of poetry is “Poems: New and Selected,” Oberlin College Press, 2004. Reprinted from “A Stick That Breaks And Breaks,” Oberlin College Press, 1997, with permission of the author. First published in the journal “Field.”

Biography

Poet and essayist Marianne Boruch grew up in Chicago. She is the author of seven collections of poetry, including, most recently, The Book of Hours (2011); Grace, Fallen from (2008); and Poems: New & Selected (2004). Her memoir, The Glimpse Traveler (2011), concerns a hitchhiking trip she took in 1971. In the Blue Pharmacy (2005) and Poetry’s Old Air (1995) are collections of her prose on poetry. In an interview with Brooke . . .

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