THRUSH'S SONG

Too frail, too timeworn, so

on my wedding day I came to her

overdressed in the day room, I looked

in aged faces to no avail

then, a chuckle, and there

under a clock, she sat

I kneeled before her

letting soundless seconds fall between us

the change in her jarring

impossible to reconcile to

my bedside locker photograph

a stranger before her

I took her hand and

she let me

her skin, gossamer over tiny bird bones

I looked into her eyes, once fire

now ash

“I’m getting married today”

“That’s nice”

lifetimes before, she took the world by the tail

and squeezed

and shook

to our family of land dwellers

she blazed across the heavens

she was the child of Icarus and Earhart

she was mountainside heather

she was paddle boats and big band jazz

she was a wave on Mirror Lake

before

in the now we hold hands

and do not speak

I gaze into her eyes

eyes that saw it all and

I find her, I find her

“I know you”

“I’m getting married today”

“You are?”

“I am”

“Do I know her?”

“Not yet”

“I was married once”

“I know”

“Let yourself be happy”

“I will try”

“I know you”

I feel her squeeze my hand

I look down and see a map

liver spot countries once explored

I look back up to find her

leaning in conspiratorially

​

whispering, just in case

“sometimes men come to my room during the night”

“do they?”

“they do, they come to my window”

“is that right?”

“it is, I tell the staff but…

…they do not believe me”

“will I tell them?”

“oh no, sometimes I leave the window open”

she winks and cackles

and the day room silence is gone

a startled flock of birds

“Shut up Thrush!”, says another elderly lady

“I will not shut up!”

she smiles at me and I watch

as the stardust falls from her eyes

and her hand grows limp in mine

and she is gone