Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Warbler's Requiem

The robin's neck is broken
its beak splintered orange
having met
something harder than itself.
My youngest girl whispers
"She's sleeping."
Big sister knows better.
"Can we bury it?"
The toe of her boot,
the mud-caked suede gray-brown like feathers,
curiously nudges the spent bird.
Its soft roundness
gives way like overripe fruit
and she withdraws her boot
her face blank as snow.
I dig the hole under the holly tree
where the snowdrops have opened
and lower the once bird.
"Awww," says the little one.
"Ew," says the bigger one.
We sing it a song.
It notices nothing--
not the song
not the mocking worm swimming pinkly
in the freshly turned earth
not the tears on the oldest girl's cheeks
or that the little one has already run off,
already forgotten the robin.

For One Shot Wednesday


  1. whew. gorgeous write...solemn...we have found and buried a few in our day...that you sang is touching...and this highlights how our grief changes as well as our view as we get older...

  2. children are grown but this one brings back memories of those times long ago. Thanks for sharing this.

  3. Sweet and touching moment, nicely written.

  4. You capture three very different perspectives and reactions to death, and you do so with excellent, vivid details.

  5. we should grow down sometimes...

    Peace, hp

  6. oh this was absoulutely beautiful and touching write...awesome..i love it

  7. Omigod, Liz! I've been scrolling down, reading your poems: mind reeling, blood churning, skin cooling then heating up again - you are so damn good! But now, I've got to come back again and again and that means I've got to make time in my schedule ... but I shall do that happily 'cause I love what you have to say and how you say it!