A crimson headed House Finch
Is left quivering and bloody
On the doormat, as a gift.
I wept when I found it,
It’s feathers were matted
And parted, and missing.
It’s wings were not able to fly
My cat was pleased. “This bird is for you,
For all the times you’ve fed me
And pet me, and dangled
A ribbon above my head, thank you.”
The bird must have been in shock,
Barely clinging to life as its
Wings fluttered ever so slightly
As my father placed it in a box.
He said that the least we could do
Is give it a warm, quiet place
To expire, and then bury it in the yard,
With a stone to mark the grave.
I cannot help but think how
Terryfying and painful this is for the bird
Or where it was going before it was
So abruptly swiped from the sky.
I feel like I must have be in shock,
Not ready to witness death
Occur before my dripping eyes,
Even if it is a house finch.
My dad tells me to relax,
Things like this happen everyday,
Everything has an expiration date,
The world keeps turning with or without
But for this moment, I’ll stay
And weep for this red headed finch
Who deserves honor and sorrow
As much as anyone else.