Wings

the sideways glance

by the eye of the brook I stood and watched the birds do the shuffle

they made waves in the waves of the air and formed clouds against the tree lines

it was play for the sake of survival and I was very down with that

for some time now the cat in my yard had slain all birds that came

I found bits of bone and the dark confetti of dead feathers here and there

I remember finding a whole errant wing bone with plumage intact

and I remember that someone said to me

that aint it a shame when a bird can't fly anymore

you take away that bird's wings and it'll just die

and I remember looking at her, whoever she was

and she walked away because I did not know her

and there was no conversation beyond that point

I looked after her with the same expressionless expression

I thought to myself, hey now

a clipped bird is a tragedy, yeah

a bird that can't fly is a shame, that's true

but all that's left of this bird, right here

is its wings

s. sparling