You lifted me
so I could peak
at a scraggly nest
wedged in the boxwood hedge.
Three eggs, misty blue, snuggled together,
safe from the sun
and the tantrums of weather.
I awed and oohed, and you
held me steady.
Yesterday,
while stomping through the garden, I came upon
a rotting robin.
It’s sunny-side-up breast bursting
with wriggling worms and black bugs.
I sank, ached
for the rest of the day,
and you,
many misty-blue
miles away, could
not pick me back up.
pm poetry 