The poem feels like someone wandering through a bird rehab center and slowly realizing they’re not just looking at injured animals they’re seeing their own story reflected back at them. There’s a quiet sadness in the way the speaker notices how songbirds are disappearing, yet also a sense of wonder in the small facts that surface, like mourning doves making milk or a cardinal fiercely defending her nest. Each bird carries its own history, its own scars, and the speaker meets them with a kind of gentle curiosity. What really hits is the moment they recognize themselves as “Phoenix,” not in a dramatic way, but in that very human sense of having been broken and rebuilt more than once. The poem doesn’t pretend that rising again makes us the same as before; it suggests the opposite that change is part of survival. It’s tender, observant, and quietly hopeful in a way that lingers.
before all the hoopla trying to get into Substack, I was interested in commenting on whatever it was I'd read, which was good - I also tried to find the poet, but was also blocked from THAT by Substack falderal - life's too short, either there's a straightforward way to engage, or there's not! Never found her (the poet) either - oh, well!
My step mom used to have a bird sanctuary in her house in Vermont. That's so weird. I'm glad you enjoyed your experience and wrote this wonderful poem about it~
“who ever said we wanted / to rise back unchanged” that last line is stunning! someone once told me there are no more good poems to be written about birds, but then a poem like this comes along and proves them wrong. Yay Katie Maning!
It's cool how birds and poems go together. Reading this one reminds me of the time I took a saw whet owl to a rehab place in Maine. It had flown into a car. I called to check on her several times, but she died in a few days. Nice poem.
WONDERFUL Poem Katie~ absolutely adore your birds and their soulful names and natures.
XX Patricia
The poem feels like someone wandering through a bird rehab center and slowly realizing they’re not just looking at injured animals they’re seeing their own story reflected back at them. There’s a quiet sadness in the way the speaker notices how songbirds are disappearing, yet also a sense of wonder in the small facts that surface, like mourning doves making milk or a cardinal fiercely defending her nest. Each bird carries its own history, its own scars, and the speaker meets them with a kind of gentle curiosity. What really hits is the moment they recognize themselves as “Phoenix,” not in a dramatic way, but in that very human sense of having been broken and rebuilt more than once. The poem doesn’t pretend that rising again makes us the same as before; it suggests the opposite that change is part of survival. It’s tender, observant, and quietly hopeful in a way that lingers.
before all the hoopla trying to get into Substack, I was interested in commenting on whatever it was I'd read, which was good - I also tried to find the poet, but was also blocked from THAT by Substack falderal - life's too short, either there's a straightforward way to engage, or there's not! Never found her (the poet) either - oh, well!
My step mom used to have a bird sanctuary in her house in Vermont. That's so weird. I'm glad you enjoyed your experience and wrote this wonderful poem about it~
Oh, this is wonderful!!!
“who ever said we wanted / to rise back unchanged” that last line is stunning! someone once told me there are no more good poems to be written about birds, but then a poem like this comes along and proves them wrong. Yay Katie Maning!
It's cool how birds and poems go together. Reading this one reminds me of the time I took a saw whet owl to a rehab place in Maine. It had flown into a car. I called to check on her several times, but she died in a few days. Nice poem.
This is lovely. It combines three things I love about- poetry, birds and women rising♥️✍️🪶