in birdless weather
Keira Deer | Poetry, Spring 2026
There is a lovely noise about your name
Claude McKay, “To A Poet”
I want a symbology for bird calls—something that holds together
the notes of each song with lines, dots, curves—a ladle
resting atop two staccato eyes, a long dash leashed to a
cantered broken arrow, a cupid’s bow brushing the curve
of the belly. I want a notation with which I can sing
your name even in birdless weather—you, bug,
the white-bright field of winter sky above you, bug,
broken arrow leaping up one octave then down a swoop
to graze the belly, tiny bird-pips kissing together
the letters of your name. Your name, spangling the soil,
your name, fawned out in sky-writing. I want
my voice leafing the notes out, unsheathing the branches,
saying this is how you spell your name in birdsong, then
this is how you pronounce I love you.
______________________________________
Why is this piece your Trace Fossil?
“As much as it needles me in the moment, I think it’s a blessing to be able to feel things so enormously it seems impossible to find the words to express those feelings. This poem is my trace fossil, because it leaves behind the echoes of that longing—the longing for some way to record a love so great it can’t be put into words, and the longing to put that love into a language (birdsong) that similarly transcends.”
Keira Deer is a poet and writing instructor based in Colorado. She received the Dan Veach Prize for Younger Poets in 2025, and her work has been published in The Good Life Review, Scapegoat Review, Hawai'i Pacific Review, and elsewhere. She can be found on Instagram @keiraswords.
in birdless weather
Keira Deer | Poetry, Spring 2026
There is a lovely noise about your name
Claude McKay, “To A Poet”
I want a symbology for bird calls—something that holds together
the notes of each song with lines, dots, curves—a ladle
resting atop two staccato eyes, a long dash
leashed to a
cantered broken arrow, a cupid’s bow brushing the curve
of the belly. I want a notation with which I can sing
your name even in birdless weather—you, bug,
the white-bright field of winter sky above you, bug,
broken arrow leaping up one octave then down a swoop
to graze the belly, tiny bird-pips kissing together
the letters of your name. Your name, spangling the soil,
your name, fawned out in sky-writing. I want
my voice leafing the notes out, unsheathing the branches,
saying this is how you spell your name in birdsong, then
this is how you pronounce I love you.
______________________________________
Why is this piece your Trace Fossil?
“As much as it needles me in the moment, I think it’s a blessing to be able to feel things so enormously it seems impossible to find the words to express those feelings. This poem is my trace fossil, because it leaves behind the echoes of that longing—the longing for some way to record a love so great it can’t be put into words, and the longing to put that love into a language (birdsong) that similarly transcends.”
Keira Deer is a poet and writing instructor based in Colorado. She received the Dan Veach Prize for Younger Poets in 2025, and her work has been published in The Good Life Review, Scapegoat Review, Hawai'i Pacific Review, and elsewhere. She can be found on Instagram @keiraswords.