The heron

The brood of geese

that waits for a lady

with a black dog

to spread stale bread

along the bank

don’t know

what the heron sees

staring alone

knee deep

into still waters.

Your aunt said

your cousin likes to talk

with a girl

in a picture that hung

on her bedroom wall,

so they moved it next

to the hospice bed

in the living room.

She laughs with the girl

while her daddy waits patiently

in a corner

high above the room

where two walls

hold up the ceiling.

Most days,

she is happy,

but when the pain becomes

too much to bear,

they increase the morphine

to let her sleep.

Your aunt said,

fifty three years is a long time

for your child to never quite grow up

and she doesn’t know

what she will do when

her baby goes to walk with Jesus.

The heron rises up,

tucks its legs,

soars to the west,

turns north then east

slowly disappearing

beyond the hill.

6-12-21

(for Tammy, a cousin with Downs)