Voice

by Seth Crook

For years
she complained about her silent husband,
wishing them to chatter
like easy garden birds.

Wren, wren,
why couldn't I marry a wren?

Until she grew reconciled,
thinking of him as the wrong species,
loving her cheap radio,
listening to more talky men.

Wren, wren,
why couldn't I marry another wren?

After he died,
after the quad bike turned,
she listened every week,
completely absorbed,
to the stories of an unknown, late crofter,
written with loving detail
about a croft exactly like theirs.

Little wren, little wren,
o why did you marry me
if I wasn't what you wanted?
I am a hen harrier
and I must quarter my fields.