Poetry Month – April 30, 2024 – On The Altar


The Parrot had to go.
Every time its bony claws scratched
Its breast
Its head
Its everywhere those claws can reach places
Dust floated
A fine white sheen on everything
Especially in her lungs
The beloved parrot
Was killing the beloved wife.
The bedeviled husband
Had to choose.
Bird or woman.
Pet or wife.
Even now
The fine chalky dust still drifts in and
feathers appear like small ragged specters
in their birdless tomb.

I didn’t intend to end poetry month on this twisted note. That’s how it is with writing. Often you don’t know where you are going til you get there. And then you do. Get there.

But seriously, I have loved this daily practice. Poetry is such a wonderful collision words, heart, memory and derring do.  Thank you for reading.