The Bower Bird
Seven days cross-country she traveled, across the badlands and up the mountain. She waited in a blind in that thin air, so tiring, so boring, so hopeful. She was waiting for the bower bird, as he waited for his mate. To set the stage, he treads the earth, he marks the borders with twigs and colored stones, bottle caps and beach glass. With twigs he builds an archway. He plans the entrance for his love, where she will pause at the threshold as she inspects his creation. He took seven years to reach maturity and he is ready. He spends hours arranging his collections, choosing the colors that leave the females breathless. He uses trompe l’oeuil, choosing ever smaller objects to make his bower seem a longer palace. The bower bird warbles waterfalls, covers other birdsong. He can be Elvis, Janis, Al Green. In sensuous rhythm, he flares and pinpoints his pupils independent of each other. He learned to do this without even a mirror. He puffs up his crest and chest, he slow-flashes his wing like a cloak, he holds eye contact over his ulna. He drums his feet, shifts his balance up in the air like Fred Astaire, he side-steps, dips and turns, telling her It is for you, it is all for you, I have waited all my life in hopes of you. It’s his own dance, no other bird has such moves. He performs his creation, inviting, pleading, styling, longing. It was the best thing I ever saw, she says.
Karen Greenbaum-Maya is a retired clinical psychologist, and a former German major and restaurant reviewer. Her collections include three chapbooks, Burrowing Song, Eggs Satori, and Kafka’s Cat (Kattywompus Press), and The Book of Knots and their Untying (Kelsay Books). Bamboo Dart Press publishes The Beautiful Leaves (2023) and Eve the Inventor (2025). She co-curates Fourth Saturdays, a long-running poetry series in Claremont, California. https://www.cloudslikemountains.blogspot.com/
You can see more of her work in 9.1 and 6.4