I failed a bird today,
a House sparrow. I had to look
it up. I’m not a bird person. In the park,
by the benches, a baby, I’m guessing.
Hobbled, tweeting urgently – to my ear,
whining. It wobble-hopped closer
when I stopped, almost to my sneaker,
looked up. Mangled foot. It fell over,
flapped itself upright, fell again –
flailed and flailed until, afraid as I was,
I touched it, finger-tipped it standing.
I stroked its back. As soon as I stopped,
it swiveled its head all the way around
onto its shoulders, beak in its feathers – freaky
but kind of miraculous. I stroked it more
and hummed. Like my kids would, when
I’d calm them that way, it closed its eyes,
fell asleep. I didn’t want to feel what
I was feeling. It probably hadn’t slept since
it got injured – survival mode versus rats,
squirrels, people, bikes, bigger bullying birds,
wind. Still and upright, eyes closed, I felt it
must be at peace, dreaming: I’m safe, God is
with me. Then I left. I had other things to do.
