A DEAD CEDAR WAXWING

                                                                  

There’s a dead cedar waxwing

Yellow and white and black

On a shovel on the front porch

How it got there is a story

Why is too

 

Mother asked me

To bury it

To get it out of sight

She was embarrassed

Someone would see it

And blame her

 

She told me maybe

Her front windows

Were so clean

The bird thought

It was flying into

The blue sky

 

Like most everything

She was sad about it

And mad

At the same time

(Yellow Chair Review, Fall 2016)