• tallulahgray 35w

    Looking for feedback on this poets! I'm not sure if it needs more between the boy and the bird, or if it's enough as it is.

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    To Touch a Blackbird

    One morning a Blackbird lay dying
    in a corner on a red tile
    of the terrace.
    The children rushed to it, shouting
    "It's still alive!"
    They picked it up. The hands
    they tugged, grasped,
    and swallowed,
    each child with their arms out high,
    shoving and reaching
    for a turn to touch
    the wilting black mass of lifeless feathers.
    When they were gone
    he sat by its side
    where the children had left it there
    laying sprawled out
    like an outgrown toy,
    a pleasure today, forgotten tomorrow.

    The bird's eye closed and reopened
    shifting an obsidian pearl
    that reflected a rainbow of dread.
    But the boy sat
    perfectly still, not moving,
    not even a blink.
    He would not touch
    the waning heap of metallic plumage,
    so their eyes held eachother,
    touching and never touching.
    The boy's shadow covered the bird,
    a welcomed cloak refuge
    from the sun,
    and they both looked upwards
    for a spell, and rested.

    The Blackbird laid dying with him
    and together they sang in silence,
    touching and never touching.