The Bird

This poem was written about my friend, Brooke.  Her mother passed away in December of 1998, and it was a fairly traumatic experience for me.  I can’t imagine the pain she and her sister felt.  This poem was written almost a year after her death, when Brooke tried to nurse a sick bird back to health – something her mother used to do.  When the bird died, I was struck with an unreasonable amount of grief, and I realized that I was grieving Brooke’s mom’s death all over again.


She just buried a bird. 
He was only a day in her life, 
Yet she cried.

He was sickly, 
And she cared for him.
She said her mother used to do the same.

Her mother had been like the bird,
And she had cared for her.
She said anyone would have done the same.

She buried her mother again today, in memory of the bird.
Or maybe she buried the bird in memory of her mother. 

Katie Swisher (née Kermeen)


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