Poem 43

I don't have much to say about this poem other than putting it away and looking at it again made it seem better. Sometimes that trick works. Been going through a bit of a block/ lack of motivation lately. Hope this isn't a huge lapse in quality.
I hope I get another bank calendar soon.

Calendar from the Bank

I opened the credit union envelope,
prying out the new calendar, the pictures
flapping by as I fluttered the pages.
I tacked the booklet above my desk,
like a cage of days, to hang and let
one day at a time wriggle through
grid lines and numbers opposite
pictures of winter peaks
and summer in the Skagit Valley.
Each day flew over my desk
to perch on my window
and sing before flying off
to join the others. By November,
feathers and spilled seed below,
the lonelier dates, still confined,
waited, tilting their heads to hear chirps
in a sealed brown envelope.