Birdsong

Remember that little bird
you once owned?

Sometimes,
you would reach up
to the old cage
and feed it those berries
picked from your garden.
It looked one-eyed at you
through the bars
as it danced on its perch
and sang its sweet birdsong.

Sometimes,
you would even turn the clasp
and reach through the door
moving your hand
so
slowly
your fingers
would brush
down
gently
across the feathers
on the back
of the dipping neck.
Your tongue
would tickle the insides
of your lips
as you made those dove sounds.

One time
in late spring,
when the scent of sun-warmed lilacs
drifted through
your kitchen window,
and the hum of a diligent lawnmower
draped the air,
you forgot to latch the cage.

You were gone
when
the little bird
flew out through its door
instinctively darting out the window,
flitting over the lilac bushes
and the berry garden
vanishing
into the fern carpeted woods
behind your parents' home.

Remember that little bird
you once owned?

Sometimes, you would reach up
to the old cage.
Sometimes you would even turn the clasp
and reach through the door.

Do you still imagine
that it flies on
through the forest
looking one-eyed
between the trees
for your approaching face
longing
to feed you berries
to sing its birdsong
and watch you dance
on your perch?

© 1998 - William Edward Ilse