KEEP BOTH MY EYES
poems on grief, aging and loss
by kerri lowe
A bird hung itself outside our window.
I watched it swing for two weeks.
Spinning in the wind, silent, an artifact of flight.
It's method was a piece of floss or some other nesting material
That held fast and squeezed tight.
Every morning, as I brought the box fan inside to close and lock the window above the fire escape
I saw it.
I watched it.
For moments too long I hung on myself to the sway of the dead bird.
Several days ago, it fell
The air was cleared.
But every morning,
I linger on the spot where string got caught
And flight turned to suffering, then stillness.