Sunday, June 21, 2009

MORNING INCIDENT WITH ROBIN


Yesterday I was on the deck 

reading the paper, drinking

 

my coffee, the usual usual, 

when I heard the thump, then the 

 

crash, a copper-headed robin,

it just missed my glass bowl of yogurt

 

and blackberries, he lay there, stunned,

 staring at me, shrugging his shoulders. 


I knew he would die.  There was no use

 getting up, no use calling anyone,


the crash was too hard.  Sure enough, 

in exquisite silence, he rolled 

 

on his back, gasping but not 

gasping, blind, wings thrashing 


idiotic.  Then his legs stretched 

and stiffened and his claws 


curled like tiny fists.  We sat there 

as the sun warmed us.  I thought of 


my friend I’d talked with the night before, 

how we’d perched in the fading sun 


until the lake chill claimed us, and words

didn't matter.  She was seeking

 

a window to crash in to,

and I was  thinking Hey, 


C'mon, straighten up and fly right.

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