Poem of the week: Dear Bird by Howard Altmann
A dead bird stumbled upon during a walk leads the poet on an inward journey confronting historical and biological cycles and the act of writing itself
Monday 3 July 2023
Dear Bird
A dead bird in the snow is not how I wish
to begin this walk, yet there it is, feathers
all bloodied and frozen to the ground,
giving flight to cause and effect, the mind
trampled by where it has gone before,
an image faithfully lodged, falling along
sandy shores and leafy trails, in the chaos
of a lonely night, dear bird might you share
your name, must I nurse you till the end,
patch you with experience, pitch storylines
to your wound, killed by man killed by animal,
the reflection of a tree, well, you seem to be
thriving, as metaphor as travelling companion,
and whom to blame whom to assign fault,
an egress offering sanctuary I kneel and gently
raise you from your bed, hold you in my hand,
my body temperature meeting yours, a trickle
of blood beginning to line my palm, your death
now in slow motion, dear bird who hasn’t lost
their way, forsaken the known upended by
the unknown, determined predetermined
no need to go there, to the sky we look for
what is coming, the two birds in endless loop
voracious hunger, a language not ours
and ours to run with.
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