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Saturday, April 05, 2008

poor bird


feeling sleepy we bid adieu and
drove home, parked, and walked in the yellow-white
light of the crescent moon and the street lamp
the sun of yesterday had melted
sidewalk snow, turning it into slippery
ice in the bone-chilling cool of the night

fumbling for the keys at the door, fingers
numbing in seconds, heard a flutter as
i pulled the storm door
'poor bird,' said M

how did she end up here? where would she find
repose now? why do we refer to birds
as females? how i wish had brought her in
the thought nagged long after the bird had flown
destination and fate unknown
the bed room doors saw the kids fast asleep
smiled, brushed, turned off the lights and went to bed
and then stayed awake in the cuddly warmth


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