Little bird

By chant

Sun, 20 Dec 2015

4 comments

1 likes

Calcifer trots up
drops a dark wad
at my feet, then
gripping it in her mouth
tosses it about.
Stiff feathers splay;
it’s dead.

In the flower bed
I cut a musty grave
the black soil
crumbly and cool
I pack over it.
How familiar
earth feels.

--
Twitter: @ianjmclachlan
Instagram: /ianjmclachlan

Permalink Submitted by Bee on Sun, 2015-12-20 12:55

That last line made this into something else. Delicately done!

Bee

Permalink Submitted by chant on Thu, 2015-12-24 12:39

thanks Bee

Permalink Submitted by EB on Sun, 2015-12-20 13:23

Story of death and compassion carefully and descriptively told. If it was me, I'd think about reversing lines 8 and 9. But a neat piece of poeting,

Permalink Submitted by chant on Thu, 2015-12-24 12:40

hey EB, thanks for reading, commenting, and a very useful suggestion. Ian