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Changing of the Guard
Timothy Steele
Prior to sunrise, as it's growing light,
Nocturnal birds relay
It is as if the birds, wings notwithstanding,
They make me think, as they converse,
Of when my mother was a nurse:
Each morning, as the night shift was disbanding,
The day shift at her hospital came on.
Our breakfasts fit whichever shift she drew.
By an unspoken rule,
Leaving for work or coming from it
She held a little family summit.
(We kids, the instant she excused us, flew
Out of the kitchen to prepare for school.)
And order they created.
While the white dress all nurses wore
Expressed their brisk esprit de corps,
Their caps had different designs to show
The colleges from which they'd graduated.
Listening to the birds, I can't infer
Which schools they went to. Still,
Like sensitively trained musicians,
They're good at managing transitions,
Just as my mother and her colleagues were
In looking after the infirm and ill.
So though it is a signal to a mate
Most birds send through the air --
Or else a claim to territory --
Their chorus seems to tell a story
Of former mornings and to correlate
The continuities of song and care.
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