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Fledgling MAG
March 16, 2021
His human cry caged
in a baby bird’s beak
His feathers like fur
denied wind’s brace
His webbed claws
coiled his hobble limbs
Maybe a mother was
bustled in wooded pines
Or a father watched with
his hollow fixed gaze
I turned a blind eye
Still, the child screeched
Daylight is dusk—
I return to the curb
Perhaps nature snatched
the bird’s split string lifespan
His feathers left traces
in the seamless sky
Or a mother returned
nestled warmth in her beak
I see what I know,
grass untampered
dirt unscathed
earth untouched.
© Olivia D., Sharon, MA
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