POETRY
The Dead Bird On The Doorstep
Where do dreams go when they die?
The dead bird on the doorstep.
Pale, soft and small —
lay there solemn.
Dormant.
Uncannily still.
No movement or motion or quiver or pulse,
Beneath the white windowsill.
No one knew when it came to be injured.
No one saw its stark mortal wound.
How it lay there beneath the white window
With its lungs firmly set —
unexpanded.
Filled full in the past,
only now, never will.
No one noticed it’s imminent floundering.
Or saw when it started to falter…
That tiny grey bird, now unmoving,
Beneath that white windowsill.
No one caught its last flights that were fleeting
As it bore toward the window with grace.
No one saw that last glint of the glass
As it plunged forward baring its face.
The moment of ending preceding
It stayed in despondent embrace.
So I’ll carry that bird from the earth
Where is sat all alone and despairing
To its unchosen sanctuary of dirt.
Did it hurt as it lay there unmoving,
Its life crushing below heaven’s ceiling?
To steal from it moments of breathing,
And leave it unsolved in its place.
The twisting of bone and the
Winnowing of feathers
Lifted up, blown away with no trace.
Is this impact, what’s left of a dream?
Heart remnants tossed careless downstream?
The glint of the window, the light from above,
The hope flashing forward, ignited in love…
To see it sweep up, then devour the dove,
Only leaving its desires undone.
Do dreams unfulfilled turn into nightmares?
Are all of these, to be left for dead?
Do they disappear slowly,
dwindling deep in the twilight?
Are we never to see them again?
Or do they grow their own version of new wings
Arising as roses at graveside
Holding thorns and new life in their stems?
Have you ever had to witness the death of a dream? Was it painful? Did it happen quickly or unbearably slowly? Did it come as a shock, or did you have time to brace for the impact? Did it happen recently or long ago?
Have you had time to notice if it made room for anything unexpected or new? Perhaps in the death, was there something unbidden that grew?
It is difficult to take the time to reflect on the things that we have lost in our lives…. However, if we never take the opportunity to do so, I wonder how many glimpses and glimmers of small gifts we are liable to miss.
I’m reminded of an article by A Benedictine monk who wrote about such kinds of musings & discoveries in a cemetery here.
