What to Make of It
You should have seen the faces of the onlookers
as I tried to bring the bird back to life.
I figured this was my chance to make something
of myself: a life-changing chance to give life.
After all, this was Easter week: I knew M street
could survive another resurrection.
First, I rubbed its torso down the length
of its beauty, careful not to disturb the feathers.
I noticed how my fingers could not sense
death: like a lover, sometimes they are the last to know.
Then, I pulled its claws and let go —
I watched them delicately spring back
into place — rigor mortis
had not set — it sets, like the light we tender
as ours, but here, on this patch of sidewalk,
I let go of my desire and watched its colors
fade — the same light in the same way
that will someday claim mine.
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I always seem to write dead animal poems around Easter. Lovely poem, Scott!
Very beautiful poem. I love it. The opening stanza is absolutely perfect.
and:
I noticed how my fingers could not sense
death: like a lover, sometimes they are the last to know.
(this might be my favorite line!)
…
I let go of my desire and watched its colors
fade–the same light in the same way
that will someday claim mine.
Delicious.
How are your MFA plans going? 🙂 You should definitely go for one.
Thank you for the inspiring comments Sarah and Suzanne. I am becoming more and more pleased that my wife pointed out this beautiful work of nature lying in our path the other day. Photographs seem to be a great starting point for other forms of art. I should take my camera everywhere, forcing myself to record!
I know what you mean about photographs..that bird looks beautiful..this is sad though. Nice one-