The Deathwatch Beetle by Linda Pastan

1.

A cardinal hurls itself

at my window all morning long,   

trying so hard to penetrate

its own reflection

I almost let it in myself,

though once I saw   

another red bird, crazed

by the walls of a room,   

spatter its feathers   

all over the house.

2.

My whole childhood is coming apart,   

the last stitches

about to be ripped out

with your death,

and I will be left—ridiculous,

to write

condolence letters

to myself.

3.

The deathwatch beetle

earned its name

not from its ugliness

or our terror

of insects

but simply because of the sound   

it makes, ticking.

4.

When your spirit

perfects itself,

will it escape

out of a nostril,

or through the spiral

passage of an ear?

Or is it even now battering   

against your thin skull, wild   

to get through, blood brother   

to this crimson bird?