Sparrows

Sparrows

Lately I've had thoughts of suicide that

appear in fluttery little bursts,

like these sparrows' wings.

On Saturday, at sixteen minutes past midnight, I realised I was experiencing

one of the two worst moments of my life.

A dance club, surrounded by

alcohol, everyone engaged in foreplay,

apart from me.

From the dark,

I glowered at them;

and the last two months sank to their nadir.

The thought's sibling,

the first worst moment,

is in Australia, many years ago.

I was in a bed in a barn on a trip I had fallen into,

as far as physically possible from anything I ever knew.

A party was going on in the larger building.

Me,

wrapped in blankets,

feeling deathly.

I remember the stars,

their cold, indifferent clarity;

the clarity of my realisation

that this was the worst it had ever been.

One silvery point among

countless others;

the cold night that might cut.

There are times, especially recently, when I'm glad, one day, it ends.

I like that woman because she's feeding the sparrows.

These sparrows.