bird feeders

“some people have bird feeders” he says
as we pour oats and sunflower seeds onto a rusty pie tin in the garden
nestled between two bamboos and a bale of hay
two blue-green mice have made their home
the compost their endless feast and in the pie tin
always dessert
we defend their kingdom from the neighborhood cats
and find their tunnels in the compost
warm in the morning when we bring out our eggshells

all I want to talk about anymore is life
the mice in the straw
the carpenter bees on the gladiolas
The peonies growing
swelling
the jumping spiders in the greenhouse

a universe is such a subjective thing
sometimes I wonder who’s setting out all of these treats
for me
who’s watching from their back porch
saying
“I hope she likes what I left her”