The Child

It was too late when I found you
Gasping and shivering; the cool hand of death was near
Your blood ran down my fingers, stained my flesh
And I felt the desperation of your small, new heart
Then you were still.

I covered you with flowers before covering you with dirt
Before covering you with wine
In the tradition of somebody’s ancestors I buried your bones
And would that you sprout up from the ground
With a different sort of wing.


One thought on “The Child

  1. This is interesting…

    The other day, I found a dead bird at my bus stop when I took the bus home from work. It must have flown into the glass and been killed. I didn’t like leaving it on the sidewalk there, so I picked it up with some papers–it was already beginning to swarm with tiny ants–and said a little prayer for it, apologized for its death, and then put it into the nearby bushes. I don’t have shovels and such that I could have properly buried it with, but I hope that doing that at least got it into the ecosystem in some somewhat respectful way, rather than having some street cleaner come by and throw it in the trash…or, worse, someone not paying attention on a bike or skateboard or on foot smash it all over the sidewalk…


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