Synthia's Passing

The morning of day turned dark,
moon to swallow sun in totality,
a bird fell from heaven onto earth,
our backyard.
the neighbor saw
and said nothing,
until later, in passing.

We found her after the magic passed
at supper time. my mother cried.
black body broken, black eyes bright,
black beak still breathing, belabored.

We brought water
in a take out tray, not a nice dish
that would be forever tainted with tragedy.
meaningless reparations.
she would not drink.

Dawn broke. still she struggled,
wing warped. we bound and boxed her
driving north to the wildlife refuge
following the train tracks.
They would not take crows.

My hands pressed her body as prayers.
Her beak opened and closed, so slowly.
What ancient secrets did she whisper
with dying breaths?
Drowning in freeway sounds and phone calls.
Pull over, anywhere but here.

We carried her to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery,
Witch's Creek streaming past, the path of
least resistance.
Smells of underearth dank, uprooted,
reborn.
Filtered leaves of life light
left her, lasting peace.
Kindred spirits caw.

My mother returned later to see she had pasted.
Wings stretched east and west, as sun travels,
a cross, the waters.
We buried her, said words, scattered wormwood,
lit the pyre and listened to the bird calls,
wondering what alms to sing for the death of a crow.