Blue Bird

She stubbornly insists
that I am her blue bird
of happiness -
though everyone knows
that I am really a jay.

My mate and I nest
in her verdant garden
keeping mostly to ourselves
and only coming out
when we are certain
those silly mockingbirds
are somewhere else.
She leaves food for us
and cool, clean water
that flows from a garden fountain.

She usually catches sight of me
through her kitchen window
and each time she spots me
she squeals with pleasure
claps her hands
and points to anyone nearby -
"Look! There is my blue bird!"
And for a brief time,
all is right in her world.

Lately I have made a point
of letting her see me more often
as her own mate lay dying
inside their stucco nest.
And on that sunny afternoon
just before he breathed his last
I hopped on the fence
outside their bedroom
until I was finally sighted
by her youngest hatchling.
She herself didn't see me
but she knew I was there -
and that was enough.