An Ode to the Village Weaver
A belated Father's Day poem
After a short hiatus from sharing on Substack (but certainly not from writing poetry), I’m trying to post all the poems I’ve neglected to share on here. This is one of them. Not written for or on Father’s Day, but written with my hardworking husband in mind. A poem of thanks and admiration for God’s creation (both bird and man).
For context: a Village Weaver is a small, yellow bird belonging to the Ploceidae bird family. They are commonly spotted in the Dominican Republic, where I am from. Despite having grown up watching them weave their nests on the Samán tree in my parent’s backyard, I never knew who did the weaving. It was during my last trip home, that my Dad shared a fun fact about this bird with me: where the village weaver is concerned, it’s the male that’s responsible for nest building.
This was (and is) fascinating to me! I knew I had to attempt writing a poem about it. Women are often known as homemakers, we beautify the home and make sure it is a welcoming abode. But, how much daily work do men put in so we can do the things we love?
This poem is an ode to the husbands and fathers who toil endlessly—our village weavers—so we can be homemakers.
Scroll down to read the poem.
A hint of yellow streaks across indigo skies.
Wings glide—
zig
zag—
in between branches, swiftly to their known destination.
Beak full, overloaded with carefully selected fibers
and tired from tugging at leaves.
The endless toil of providing.
Arriving at the branch, his hardest work begins
weave out, weave in
out in
the strands to cradle his love and kin.
Almost time for a sturdy abode
where life can thrive.
Village Weaver: your work never goes by
unnoticed. Building, sustaining, a home
for her, the homemaker.
- r.e.g.
Te amo!!!!