LOSS
*
The meadowlark perches on the fence
overlooking the remains of its nest. Red fox
and black snake were not the culprits.
The grass was cut and baled.
*
Once a man, twice a child.
Just a few bites of sandwich is all he eats,
she, not much more. His wife watches him fill his pill box,
monitors every breath. Sits with him every night.
*
Arms flapping to some internal rhythm,
a mother pushes her son to the next appointment
in a custom wheelchair: pads hold his head.
She talks to him, no matter that he looks through her.
*
Perched on the fence,
meadowlark sings.
