Waxwing, he said. / Dad said. / At the window. / In the kitchen. / Mom came running. / My spoon hung / in my Cheerios. / He said it with such urgency. / He was not, / is not, an urgent man. / What is a waxwing? / I thought it was some new / monstrous beast that would swallow / dogs and cats alive— / then rise in shadows / up over the window, / the whole house. / The Cheerios orbit my spoon. / I thought it was some machine of war. / Like the one dad went to work to build. Breaching / out of the ocean, breathing fire, / melting everything. The Cedar Waxwing / is not a bird of prey. It is a rare bird / for where I grew up. / Rare enough, it seems, / for dire excitement. / Rare enough to remember. / Wings of wax. Icarus wings. / We were breathing the fire. / We are the monsters. / There is only milk left / in the bowl, the color of melted feathers. 

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