MOCKINGBIRDS
by
Mary Oliver
This morning
two mockingbirds
in the green field
were spinning and
tossing
the white ribbons
of their songs
into the air.
I had nothing
better to do
than listen.
I mean this
seriously.
In Greece,
a long time ago,
an old couple
opened their door
to two strangers
who were,
it soon appeared,
not men at all,
but gods.
It is my favorite
story--
how the old couple
had almost nothing
to give
but their willingness
to be attentive--
but for this alone
the gods loved them
and blessed them--
when they rose
out of their mortal
bodies,
like a million particles
of water
from a fountain,
the light
swept into all the
corners
of the cottage,
and the old couple,
shaken with understanding,
bowed down--
but still they asked
for nothing
but the difficult
life
which they had already.
And the gods smiled,
as they vanished,
clapping their great
wings.
Wherever it was
I was supposed to
be
this morning--
whatever it was I
said
I would be doing--
I was standing
at the edge of the
field--
I was hurrying
through my own soul,
opening its dark
doors--
I was leaning out;
I was listening.
Mary
Oliver is the writer-in-residence at Sweet Briar College, in Virginia.
She received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1984 for her book American
Primitive.