Six Consecutive Nests of the Male Southern Masked Weaver: A Tale of Serial Monogamy

by Catherine Owen

1.

You & I
in August, Petranella
with lubricant bluebells & rapacious amaryllis,
a snippet of a willow wand & the weight of Acacia
twigs, mud-sucky, salivant, celebrant lined with goose down,
a whole fluff hacky sack, pensile sweet Dodo gullet, our mangrove
private, delectable lust-denned, hung-lovely home.

2.

You & I
in September, Salome
with vigorous switches of herbaceous borders, giddy rose
guts and lo for a cedary fringe all splayed out then ring upon ring
of glittering fungal gems, a spray of aloes or a tassel of Queen
Anne’s lace, ahhh your face when you see it, lit up by the exquisite
long surprise of this tensile, lingual home.

3.

You & I
in October, Lucille
with soft poppies rocking the pendulous weft, a slinky
vortex of happy rats bane and licorice root, a swoon of velvet
Pelargoniums, the apex knotted tight with ivy’s wild flourish,
that rampant Agapanthus limning the spherically
delicious entrance to our redolent, elegant home.

4.

You & I
in November, Charlotte
with birch bark & lichen & the slippery-lipped Ericas
sealed in a swift confederacy, a sensual mesh, cemented
together by slight applied spit, just there & there, squat,
un-hurled by weather, where we shall nestle within a solid
pendant, sleek with milkweed and Protea past its prime, yes
this palm-smoothed haven of a comfort-humbled home.

5.

You & I
in December, Ethel
with clay-baked Baobab sturdiness, deliberate binding of branch widths,
heft measured at the edges, central span motile, flexible, a concentric
perfection, nubile green ends wedged in hard budding anchors, the swollen
nibs of unopened irises & spiky Glads, such architectural reverence I’ve
shaped, this firm and well-sealed monument of what we know as home.

6.

You & I
in January, Sue
with the silk moments of daisies spackling an otherwise fast
efficiency of slender, stripped windfall, woven plumply at the base
with hay, with reeds, and a small tumuli of Chiff-Chaff feathers, plush
yet never excessive, Arum lilies at the peak for decorative finish but
the rest such simple gorgeousness of sufficiency, this last unreckless, tender home.

*

Catherine Owen is a Vancouver, BC, writer & musician. She’s published nine collections of poetry and one of prose,
won a few awards and toured with bands. This poem is from a collaboration called NEST with the multimedia
artist Sydney Lancaster. Further info can be found at www.catherineowen.org.
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