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.
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-