a life of birds

for most of her
life
she had a bird
or two
canaries
in a small
cage
hanging
in the kitchen
window.
they'd last
a month or so,
a year,
some longer,
some just a day,
an hour.
some whistled
and sang,
others were
silent, yet
still
beautiful
in their strange
yellows
and greens,
brilliant blues
beneath the spread
of their wings.
she'd talk
sweetly
to them,
feeding them
gently,
filling the dish
of water.
each bird
bringing joy,
each death, tears.