Catbirds, Mockingbirds, Starlings

John Donlan

Birds repeat their parents' songs
As if their lives depend on it.
                                                  They do:
Catbirds, mockingbirds, starlings

Mimic birds or fire alarms but sound
Like catbirds, mockingbirds, starlings.
I compare my tongue-tied goodbye:
"You're dying, Mum."

                                            Stupid: I only hope
She was unconscious. (Was there a hand-squeeze?
Sometimes I tailor comfortless memories.)
I spoke so she'd know I was there, that's all.

Her chest sank on each useless breath:
Her lungs were full of fluid. She was drowning.
Pneumonia, the friend of suffering.
Unthinking, comfortless: at last, a truth we knew.


July 23, 2004

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John Donlan's works copyright © to the author.