Catbirds, Mockingbirds, Starlings

Birds repeat their parents' songs
as if their lives depend on it.
They do:
catbirds, mockingbirds, starlings

Mimic birds or fire alarms but sound
most like catbirds, mockingbirds, starlings.
I compare my tongue-tied goodbye:
"You're dying, Mum."

Stupid: I only hope
she was unconscious. (Was there a hand-squeeze?
Sometimes I tailor comfortless memories.)
I spoke so she'd know I was there, that's all.

Her chest sank on each useless breath:
her lungs were full of fluid. She was drowning.
Pneumonia, the friend of suffering.
Unthinking, comfortless: at last, a truth we knew.

               July 23, 2004

John Donlan
The Malahat Review
Number 150
Spring 2005

© The Malahat Review, 2005
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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