Robbi Nester: California Poets Part 10, Two Poems

Robbie Nester

April 2nd, 2026

California Poets: Part X

Robbi Nester

Two Poems

Eclipse

After Sal Taylor Kydd’s photograph, Oliver Watching the Eclipse, 1/10

The boy knows that soon enough, the moon will block the sun, swallowing

its brightness in increments until it is neither night nor day but something

in-between, and that soon, shadows will bloom like bruises by the barn,

the rake stretch its claws toward the half-open doorway, windows’

lidless eyes. Birds will huddle in the trees, and bats swoop overhead.

But behind his paper shades, he grows weary of waiting. In his mind,

he hovers above the burning surface, on a journey to the center

of the galaxy. He hadn’t realized the change would take so long.

All his life, he has watched that sun cast its golden net over familiar

hills and houses, coaxing seeds to split, unfurl, turning toward

warm light, taking comfort from its presence in the sky, and yet,

the most ordinary can surprise. Why not the sun, sustaining life,

the source of stories, myth? Egyptians once believed it was a god.

Like the God of Sunday school, we cannot look at it, or else

be stricken blind. So when the false night falls, he fears that it

will never rise again, although he knows better, that elsewhere, there

are suns more powerful and brighter. Yet we prefer the one we have,

just warm enough to make things grow, more than sufficient to our needs.

For the Birds

I’ve always heard that only male birds sing,

the showy ones, with fancy feathers, coaxing

potential mates to come closer with their song

and dance, hypnotic patterns, or weave nests

out of twigs, build piles of perfectly round

stones gathered on a lonely beach.

Not all of them are artists like the bowerbird, who

in the name of reproduction, assembles all things blue

into a shrine composed of: threads or feathers, shreds

of shiny fabric, anything to catch the eye of a prospective

mate, and we too are entranced, never noticing the females,

who also know the ancient steps of this elaborate

courting dance. And more.

Scientists attest that 70% of female songbirds

are capable of song, though it’s hard to see them.

They hide in such thick undergrowth, we seldom

recognize their skills. Maybe females’ songs

have an altered tone and pitch, or they sing

the same notes in a different order. Perhaps

they sing for different reasons than the males do,

complain of cold and rainy hours waiting on

the nest, the weariness of filling empty gullets

or mock the males’ pretentious trills, the way

they stand on tiptoe like divers about to leap,

or spread their wings like cloaks, imagining

themselves quite irresistible, though all

the trees are full of birds, almost identical.

In the end, are human beings so different?

It’s impossible to hear any bird’s song

as another bird would.

Author Bio:

Robbi Nester is the author of 5 books of poetry, the most recent an ekphrastic collection with plates, About to Disappear (Shanti Arts, 2025). She has also edited three anthologies and currently hosts and curates 2 monthly poetry series on Zoom, Verse Virtual Monthly Poetry and Open Mic and Words with You, which is part of The Poetry Salon Online. Learn more about her work at http://www.robbinester.net