I buried a bird at sunset
To teach its elder’s some respect
As bundles of familiar feathers swooped
singing scornful songs of incomplete youth
I knew where they’d been at time of death.


I denied the cat the flightless fallen body
Siblings guarding silently as I tore up flower beds
With a piece of broken tile and old weeds left in a pile
Solemn is the hand that carves the final nest.


I buried them with nothing more than three sprigs of lavender,
& fluffy baby feathers splattered with dirt
I wished only empty bellied, good-hearted scavengers
Would carry them to a better nurturing earth.


Tucked into blankets of leaves and mud
I wondered what god they feared, if any
Tying twisted twigs together with reeds & blood
a wonky cross to tell the worms they’re ready.


Loud is the crying fowl that pushed the flightless
Like pitted berries bulging through drooling chins
A clumsy stork is unburdened by lightness,
like the absence of young wings in the wind.


I hope when I am weak in breath & bone
With no children nor chirping to mourn my vessel empty
Someone might lay me down with three sprigs of lavender & a stone

And wonder what god I feared, if any.