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The Humanist

The Humanist

The hearth cracked, ashes spilling from the fire grate;
and that same day a bird flew inside the house, a starling.

Reaching out to catch it I strained my arm. I was sorry
for us both, and let the bird go in the road, where a cat
caught it and killed it, but left it untorn.

There’s a message for me in these random happenings
my neighbour said, but he also believes in premonitions.
I buried the starling in the yard.

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Selected by Sara ClancyImage Photo by John Yunker

Published in Open Arts Forum on .

Selected by Sara Clancy·
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David Belcher