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Poisoning The Birds
Hundreds of small birds Coffee and morning paper in my hand I learn again that I've been out of touch. Small birds, forgive, I didn't understand. Seed rots in the feeder if allowed to stand Too long. I need enlightenment and bleach, After my coffee and the paper in my hand. Pine siskins, finches, sparrows, towhees, and The varied thrush are dying. Each Of you, I ask forgiveness. I didn't understand. This is my own backyard, no foreign land. You are not starving children. Such Useless mourning, useless paper in my hand. My misguided loving's been a blunder. I've done it to the least of these. . . Oh, Christ, please understand. Delicate beings of this world, I never planned To offer you too little, or too much. The morning news is quaking in my hand. Forgive, small birds, I didn't understand.
Carol Gordon is a retired mental health counselor and bird watcher in Olympia. Her work has appeared in Seattle Review, Calyx, Crabcreek Review, Sow's Ear, and others. Her chapbook Lost Stone was published by Flume Press in 1988. 'Poisoning the Birds' originally appeared in Permafrost |
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