*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 & white bird
sharp beak a shard
of obsidian
flew in, a loop, flew out,
a rustle-rush of black wing & 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
-- it's always black and white birds --
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.
*A draft by Janet Jackson
17 December 2010
*
--
*Janet Jackson: Words with attitude & soul*
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