“Some birds eat in the moment,” the ornithologist turns to me and explains,
“they spend their entire day chasing insects,
searching for seeds to consume right then and there…”
Others, such as the downy woodpecker,
cache food in the savings banks of trees –
in slender crevices and
deep within round pockets
between flakey layers of bark
30 meters above ground.
They labor now
in order to receive nutrients and energy later.
This morning,
I observe their movements in riverside trees and shrubs and
I hold their efforts in the highest regard.
I am tired.
Being human is hitting hard lately.
So, I translate, place the Babel fish in my ear, as it were:
To each her own rhythm and cycle.
One person’s thought-filled rest is another’s run
at astonishing speed.
Sleep, work.
Conserve, consume.
Multi-task or
spend an entire day peering at one jigsaw puzzle,
slowly assembling minutes into hours.
Deep in the endocrine system,
I understand mere existence as labour,
the smallest of motions as acts of survival.
Written at Nancy Gonzalez St Clair’s workshop, Hands That Shape the World: Poetry Inspired by Labor (12/7/24, Lodi, CA)