Your life was for the birds.
Three days after you’ve gone,
and sparrows still sit at your sill,
looking for seed.
In the window,
the cat sleeps,
dreaming of mourning doves and other manna
she’s never known.
In the field beyond your fence,
squirrels wait in trees for seeds from the feeder to fall,
deer wish for water to be poured in bird baths like wine,
and starlings watch the door for your resurrection,
hoping you’re about to burst forth
carrying bits of bread and crusts,
cupping victuals in your venerable hands,
communion for crows.
By Kristen Perillo
Kristen Perillo is a writer and high school English teacher in Buffalo, NY. Her former fitness blog was developed into a memoir, Following Fit, and her writing can be found at kristenperillo.com.