In her hands she held a baby bird
tiny, wet, squawking.
She has a virgin mary smile
and her head bent, her eyes bent longingly
at a virgin mary angle.
She seemed content
standing there on the corner
with all that traffic moving by her.
She didn’t notice.
She rocked back and forth, slightly
coddling her young
She hummed to herself.
She stood there rocking her bird.
It was October and I thought that
birds only had babies in the Spring.
It began to get cold
the sun slipped behind the tall buildings
but she didn’t notice.
She was the Lexington Avenue virgin of the bird
rooted to her corner like some strange city tree
making a nest in her hands.
She stood there, across the street from the hardware store
humming to herself, humming to her bird
Unaware of the people and the cars
and the buses
and the noise.