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Love Song
Love comes hungry to anyone’s hand.
I found the newborn sparrow next to
the tumbled nest on the grass. Bravely
opening its beak. Cats circled, squirrels.
I tried to set the nest right but the wild
birds had fled. The knot of pin feathers
sat in my hand and spoke. Just because
I’ve raised it by touch, doesn’t mean it
follows. All day it pecks at the tin image of
a faceless bird. It refuses to fly,
though I’ve opened the door. What
sends us to each other? He and I
had a blue landscape, a village street,
some poems, bread on a plate. Love
was a camera in a doorway, love was
a script, a tin bird. Love was faceless,
even when we’d memorized each other’s
lines. Love was hungry, love was faceless,
the sparrow sings, famished, in my hand.
—Carol Muske-Dukes
This is an example of personification. Love can't be hungry, this is showing us that love is desperate, it needs people just as people need food when they are hungry.
"The newborn sparrow next to the tumbled nest on the grass"
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
When we read this poem, our first thought was that love is delicate, special, something that cannot be abused. A part that stands out is the comparison of love to the newborn sparrow. This emphasizes the delicacy of love and how you need to treat it with care. Another part that stood out to us is when it says love comes hungry to anyone's hand, which means people are desperate for love and they crave it so badly.
Love Song
Love comes hungry to anyone’s hand.
I found the newborn sparrow next to
the tumbled nest on the grass. Bravely
opening its beak. Cats circled, squirrels.
I tried to set the nest right but the wild
birds had fled. The knot of pin feathers
sat in my hand and spoke. Just because
I’ve raised it by touch, doesn’t mean it
follows. All day it pecks at the tin image of
a faceless bird. It refuses to fly,
though I’ve opened the door. What
sends us to each other? He and I
had a blue landscape, a village street,
some poems, bread on a plate. Love
was a camera in a doorway, love was
a script, a tin bird. Love was faceless,
even when we’d memorized each other’s
lines. Love was hungry, love was faceless,
the sparrow sings, famished, in my hand.
—Carol Muske-Dukes