Better than Wings

Three love poems

Photo by Dennys Hess on Unsplash

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Better than Wings


I don't know the specific names
of birds. I can only describe 
their size and color. I can't tell
the difference between a flicker

and a woodpecker. That one
at the feeder is maybe a swallow
and that one flying above
the trees could be a hawk

or falcon. A wing is a wing
is a wing. But, my love, I do
recognize your gait as you walk
toward me from fields away. 

You're the earthen ceremony
I've long observed. I could close
my eyes and draw by memory
your sway, wave, twirl, and curve.




Estimated Time of Departure


We scoff at the white people
who swear they're going to leave
the country because of this
or that mayhem—because of what

the future may or may not portend.
We laugh when we see you
sweaty expatriates gripping
your departure tickets as you board

the airplanes because we Indians
will always stay and continue to be
the children of these rivers no matter
who pretends to own them. I swear

that Diane and I will become the stand
of pines that shatters each and every blade.



To Be Continued


Through the shop window, a long row of white
wedding dresses, worn once then donated

and sold at affordable prices. Inside the shop,
three women are discussing and debating

which dress is the most beautiful and best.
The young bride and another young woman who

is a sister or best friend, and the older woman
who is likely the mother. They are drinking what

I assume is sparkling water from plastic flutes.
No wine or champagne allowed, nothing

that could stain fabric. Listen, listen. Most people
still want to get married. Most people still want

to have children. We humans are not so different 
than hummingbirds and brown bears. I'd often dreamed

of being a groom during my childhood. And now
look at me sharing this house—sharing all of these

rooms with my wife and sons. I want my descendants,
the grandchildren of my grandchildren, to study

the old photographs of my face and see their eyes
and nose and hair. I want them to hang family portraits

in their homes and say, "That one there with the big chin,
he's the tall Indian who loved to write poems."

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As a new feature of my Substack, I’ll be including PDFs of my posts if you prefer to download and print them to read. It’s good to have that tangible paper in hand.

Sherman Alexie — Better Than Wings

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three love poems

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