Hanging out in my backyard I usually say a few words and whistles to my bird PJ. I buried him in a biscuits box under a dogwood tree in my backyard last fall. my sister watched from her window as I put dirt on top of the tin. My mom put a small winged angel made out of concrete at the head of the grave.
"Come over Darling.
We can play cards."
"Don't get a paper cut."
"Don't get red hearts.
"We can go outside
and hold hands--
look into the robin-shelled sky
to soften romance.
"I lost my bird
somewhere out here.
He's under the dirt
somewhere out here.
"Let's listen to
his little song.
I think you'll like it.
It isn't very long."
Singing as the roots
crush his wings.
Singing as the worms
eat his heart.
Whistling along
with the Earth's song.
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