Sliding Glass Door Requiem: Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse Lament

Oh, goldfinch!
Bright yellow cheer-bringer,
Flash of color
even in winter’s darkest days.

Too late I moved toward
The sliding glass door
Where you would have seen my shadow
And veered away.

Instead:
Thunk.
“Oh no nonono!”
I cry
and reach for you,
fallen,
as your glowing tail feathers
fan out wide
in a blaze of color,
then close as tight
as your dainty feet,
curled.
Dead goldfinch in the palm of my hand, Lake Winneconne, May, 2016
You are still warm
as I hold you,
tiny,
in the palm of my hand.

Tears well up
as I wait,
hoping.

But your eyes stay open,
fixed and dilated,
and even as I hold you,
admiring your bright gold feathers
and the tiny streaks of red on your breast
that I’ve never noticed before,
you grow cold in my hand.

I place you
tenderly,
at the base of the daffodils
which mimic your radiant glory,
but which,
like you,
are starting to fade away.

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