Little Bird

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

for Rocco Tripodi who worked with children in theater

Little bird
came near
my window.
Ruffled feathers
couldn’t keep
his eyes from closing.

I found him later,
just a wisp
of a body.

Only yesterday
he was bright-eyed
with slicked-back feathers.

The townspeople said
he taught
their children
how to fly.

14 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

14 responses to “Little Bird

  1. Each tragedy but part of a larger and more complex (yet somehow quite simple) overall picture.

  2. Caddo Veil

    Oh my goodness, Ethel–So beautiful in the simplicity of words, and deeply heart-touching. God Bless You

  3. And that little bird’s joy lives on the the children of the town!

  4. Scriptor Obscura

    Wow. Wow. Just wow. I don’t know what else to say here…What a poem. It floors you with its quiet simplicity, it sidles in unnoticed as you are reading it and punches you in the gut, knocking the wind out of you before you have even realized what just happened, all with its quiet, simple words and imagery. This is just magnificent. The power and profundity of a few quiet, simple words. You are an amazing wordsmith, Ethel. This is a sobering poem that lingers in your mind with its beautiful, saddening imagery. *sigh*…What you write has echoes that linger far beyond mere words on the page…Keep up the excellent writing, my friend. I really am in awe of the quiet power of what you write.

  5. This so touches upon the feeling, the thoughts I have when I have unfortunately come upon a dead songbird, Ethel. And the ending of this lovely poem makes it fable-like.

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