wet-feathered, sharp-sharded

as I sat
against the wall
under the eaves
facing the trees
as I sat
that morning
trying to eat
crying

that bird
that six-inch black-and-white bird
sharp beak a shard
of obsidian
flew in, a loop, flew out,
a rustle-rush of black wing and tail,
of soft fronds on stiff ribs,
flew at me —
sharp shock,
eye-death spike,
rustle-rush —
flew in, a loop, flew out

as I, mug in hand, bowl in lap,
cried
as I cried, trying
to express — push out —
a nameless
loss

that bird
came back
quiet
alighted
near
and looked at me
that bird
that wet-feathered bird
had been in the rain all night
came back
quiet
alighted
near
and looked at me
wet-feathered
sharp-sharded
dark-eyed

I picked out a grain of my
‘Just Right’
my ironic breakfast
placed it between us

because that’s how you be friends
— with any
animal —
you share food

and that bird
cold      wet      hungry
said
yes
it hurts
but it’s all right
there are still
small things
to care
about.

What do you think?

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