The Millennial Pedestrian

Wounded Sparrow

Walking to school one blue fall day, Kit and I
spotted a sparrow in a heap of leaves.
When it didn’t fly away, we looked more closely.
The sparrow was hurt, trembling –
a broken wing trailed limp.
Maybe a teacher or the nurse could mend it.
Kit wrapped a red kerchief around the sparrow,
which studied us with serious black eyes.

Our teacher, Mrs. Clancy, told us there was nothing
the school could do to help.
“Take the sparrow outdoors,” she urged,
“Where it belongs, and let it go.
Animals can cure themselves, you know.”

We carried the sparrow out to the playground.
Mrs. Clancy watched us from the classroom window
and the sparrow watched us from its bright-red
kerchief swaddling, eyes still vivid and intent.

Was it reproaching us? I felt a queer uneasiness.
We set the shaking sparrow down beneath an elm.
It flapped its good wing as if trying to fly.
Then opening its beak, it seemed to gasp for breath.

A couple of crows settled on a top branch of the elm
and raucously began to caw. “I don’t like those crows,”
Kit said as we returned to Mrs. Clancy’s classroom.

At three, we ran back to the tree.
Not a feather remained of the wounded sparrow.
Overhead, the crows mocked us.

This entry was posted on Saturday, July 22nd, 2006.
It's part of the New Poems category.
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