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A feather flies away in the wind
The soft caresses
Ruffle the feathers
A slight swirl
And the seed hulls dance
As I reach in,
And touch
For just a second, his eyes glint once more
His eyes weakly open once more
And my heart leaps!
He’s still here!
But just a trick of the light.
As I cradle his tiny body between my fingers
None of that life
None of that warmth
Pale and still are his tiny claws
Those nails that always got stuck on my clothes
Those claws that used to shake my finger
And the feathers
Still so soft
Its wrong
Why should they be so soft even in death?
Shouldn’t they be
Cold hard spiky
Unpleasant to the touch?
And his eyes
That once closed in comfort and shone bright
– With that crescent white ring around the shiny blackness –
whenever I would pet his soft head
scratch at that itchy spot on his ears
smooth down the cheek feather with those tear drop
splattered black spots on white
that constantly made it seem like
his beak was fixated in a grin
now stare dully. Far
away, as if in a dream like state. Somewhere else.
And yet so peaceful
The last breath, the last beat
A large sigh of relief, perhaps for him
If for that, I am glad.
To ease the pain, but I only wish he did not have to go
Alone.
If I had been there,
But still not sure if I could have handled that
To see the life draining
And I sit there in the cold
Faux light filtering into the air
Sheltering his broken body
From the wind
Smooth down those soft feathers one last time
And then another time…
And another
And…
The walk is screaming.
I am so sorry that I wasn’t there
Was it my fault
Did I do this to you?
To open the lid
Drains my strength I have not any left to keep it open
Tip my palm to the ground
Those soft feathers slide right off.
A soft thump.
Draw my hand back as if shocked,
Shake them out – trembling
Stamp my feet anxiously
Tears start to spill
And I wonder why they couldn’t come before-nowcannotstop.
Pass the empty cage on the way back
Favorite toys swinging in the crisp winter air
Open the door to light spilling out
And warmth
I feel none of it.
Pass her on the way in,
Her eyes betray her annoyance, although her face says
nothing
Her mouth says nothing
She says nothing
I know another one won’t be coming.
Never again shall the
House be filled with the bright chirps of my bird
Or any.
And they come back again as soon as I can’t see her anymore
This time without abandon.
And for the longest time,
Pleuvoir.
And I can’t stop it.
I don’t want to.
I can hear myself
But don’t know that it’s me
Can I really make that sound?
Is it possible for me?
Drifting out of physical reality
Eyesight blurring
Tripping over thin air
Falling, falling
Onto the ground.
Falling, falling
Into the darkness.
Tip my palm to the ground.
Those soft feathers slide right off.
A soft thump.
Cerulean fades to gray.
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