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

On God's green earth

She was sad about it

And mad

At the same time

(Yellow Chair Review, Fall 2016)