over and over again, the maintaince man cleaning the property i found her at, told me to throw her in the garbage. to “trust him” and throw her out. he watched me scoop her lifeless body into the shoebox with his nose turned up and he stopped his work to watch me do mine and then proceed to tell me what i was doing was wrong. i’m glad i got there in time. in time to move a gift of nature back to it’s home. wouldn’t that be what you’d want sir? or is the garbage cool with you? i took her quickly and i left. and he stood there. staring at me in disgust and pointing me in the direction of the garbage can. i shooed him away and went the other way. throw her away? i would never throw her away. i walked with her through the city giving her wings one last time. we went into the most serene part of a forest, the place i went last to paint and then went home and painted these exact flowers. they are now the bed of her burial site. the light shined on her the whole way. if she cannot fly, i will walk, i will drive, a will run. i will give her a proper ending. a proper goodbye. i would never throw her away. for the innocent, i persist.
i don’t know what the future holds. i don’t know what the days will bring. but i promise to keep my eyes peeled for the over looked. for those quick to be discarded. for those who stopped singing but hold one of natures most beautiful songs. the Hermit Thrust named the poets bird. the “American nightingale” i hoped she’d fly again. she flipped over for me. so i could learn to keep hope alive. how to do so with honor, fury, and the message that could kill me.
