Poem October 27, 2003 ISSUE

Troubleshooting

William Stafford

On still days when country telephonewires go south, go home, go quietly away intothe woods, a certain little brown bird appears,hopping and flying by starts, following the line,trying out each pole.My father and I, troubleshooting for thetelephonecompany back then, used to see that same birdalong old roads, and it led us to farmswe always thought about owning some day.

When I see that bird now I see my fathertilt his hat and flip the pliers confidentlyinto the toolbox; the noise of my life, and allthe buffeting from those who judge and pass by,dwindle off and sink into the silence,and the little brown bird steadfastly wanders onpulling what counts wherever it goes.

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