The World According to Poetry #33
Mine, That Bird
By Stephanie Miller
©2019
I watched her
Dart from blossom to blossom
Came to appreciate the iridescent hue
A tiny shield of feathers
Joan of Arc returned from war
I knew her, I thought,
In our short time together
She could expect me to read my paper
And drink my morning coffee on the porch
And I could expect certain things, too,
But in her canny way
She had other plans
Me, not included
Or else, why should she have wings?
And one day when she is longer there
I am left to wonder
Did she meet some bloody end
Or choose the climbing crimson rose
On our neighbor’s wall
Or decide to be someone else’s
Or no one’s at all?