Blood on the Sill

Blood on the sill

 

There is blood on the windowsill

From where that bird died a few weeks back

Oh don’t bother to clean it, I don’t mind

It’s just a memory.

 

Poor thing, got carried away with the wind

And flew head long into the window lattice

It sat there on the windowsill, stunned

Here I stood, and watched.

 

Moving closer, something caught my eye,

I single drop of blood, like a tiny ruby,

Pooling in the small birds beak.

A shimmering drop of life snuffed out.

 

Oh do not ask what happened next,

Do not ask, though I could tell,

Of how I opened up the window lattice,

How I scooped the fallen fowl from its place of death,

And threw up and off the sill it rested on.

 

An unceremonious end to an unceremonious creature.

 

Indeed, I often think of the little bird,

Lying dead across my windowsill,

With its brains in a heap at the bottom of its gut,

With its heart shattered and its lungs collapsed,

Dead, let ever so lovely.

 

For only in death can we understand life’s beauty.

 

Reviews

[Emily]

Very interesting. There is a sense of malice through this piece. I don't know many people who would hurt it away instead of putting it in a comfortable place to let it die.
But, this is coming from a girl who has a full, spread eagle, bird print on one of her windows from a bird flying head-long into the window. The 'bird smudge' is the bird from wing tip to wing tip including feather detail and head and tail. No idea where the bird went.

Regardless, this is a very interesting piece. The words are well chosen and the flow is very good. I will say again that there seems to be a bit of malice in this piece, of watching the bird die without much compassion. I like the edge you've captured here, and how the one drop of still sitting blood reminds you of it every time.

nice write!

[Jinx's Heart]

Wow! Such a delicately written poem about such an unfortunate (even gross) incident for a lovely creature. I really admire this poem. Very well done. :)