the new yellow bird

the turn of the spade

as we

bury

the bird

in the yard. a yellow

bird.

sweetly singing

each day

for my mother.

and there she is in

the window.

hands on her face,

crying harder than i've

ever seen

her cry before.

but tomorrow

a new bird will

be in the cage and this

one, 

to it's grave,

won't be thought of

anymore.