Poems by Annie Cody Holdren

The Nests

by Annie Cody Holdren

From Canary Spring 2023

Annie lives midway between Monterey and Salinas, California, on the occupied lands of the Rumsen Ohlone. Her home perches on an oak-covered hillside that drains into Toro Creek, a tributary of the Salinas River (Rumsen: ua kot taiaua?orx).

Grandpa thought it was
a wasp’s nest hanging
from the wire above our cabin,
so he shot it
with pesticides, with force
enough to bring it down.
We girls watched
from behind the window as
he picked it up,
commanded us
to come outside.
We stalled until he shouted,
“God damn it!”
“God damn it
to hell,” he continued
as we looked
inside the nest:
two eggs, small
as my fingernails.
“A hummingbird’s”
the Admiral said,
and dismissed us.

Years later he sent
my sister to Japan.
He commissioned her
to plant a pine,
install a plaque
at Yakasuni Shrine.
It was the first
American memorial,
inscribed as he’d
directed:
For Japanese Submariners
from the U.S.S. Taylor’s
Officers and Men.
Last Spring I went to see it.
The plaque was weathered, but in the tree
birds raised their young.