Sunday, April 20, 2008


I am always sorry
to have looked any closer
a flash of gray and white
and at second glance
it is not one
but two dead birds.

Young and small
but not babies
no innocent tumble
from the nest
but gutted
by a neighborhood cat.

My son wants to look
and I have to let him.

Death, we see
is often brutal
cannot be helped

and my son moves on
and I don’t know if I can.

1 comment:

Karen said...

I really like the way the title and poem work together--and the end is so poignant...