Seventy-Eight — Summary

A meadowlark guarding her eggs distracts a threat by pretending to be hurt. The speaker recognizes that same trick: for twenty years, they have shown someone a misleading injury while keeping their real wounds hidden. The bird’s broken-wing act is not weakness but protection—it lures attention to the surface so the fragile nest remains safe. In the same way, the speaker suggests, they have guarded deeper pain by offering a visible deflection, perhaps a performed hurt or a convenient story. The mood is quiet, rueful, and a little exhausted, but not angry. There is tenderness in being compared to a bird protecting her young. The poem leaves the exact wounds unnamed, which makes the concealment feel even more deliberate and lonely.