Pigeon

Like a discarded puppet, Twisted wing and neck Where you fell, you lay. Discordant fluttering couldn’t Raise you. You were anchored there, Grey upon heavy grey.

I couldn’t help. Feeble and afraid, I shook, and shut the curtains. When the trembling ceased, when My pounding heart eased, I slept. In dreams, I could not read the message You brought me. poor, dead avian. ©Teresa Durran 190812