The Persistent Metaphor of Birds

By Paula J. Lambert

For so long, I swore I didn’t where the birds in my writing had come from. Their bones, beaks, feathers—so many kinds of feathers. The feet, toes, talons. Every odd, intricate detail of a bird’s anatomy would turn itself into a poem or appear in an essay—eventually, hundreds of pages. They keep coming.

I’m not a birder. I’m no ornithologist. When I finally remembered the birds in my grandfather’s yard, it seemed to explain…something. All those flashes of color: b...