Listen to the poem
I’m so easily spooked,
one moment I’m cooing,
the other I’m clapping
my wings out of fright.
It might be the crunch
of dead leaves under pink toes
that cause me to fly, but
we cannot be too careful.
Us old messengers have to
be weary of all threats.
One moment I was sharing a meal
with sparrows and squirrels,
the other, a member of my flock
felt the piercing of talons
breaking ribs like soft lungs.
Feathers rolled on the ground
not even bones or a beak left behind
only red snow the wind won’t blow away.
