Caught in the Wire
Perfectly shaped, slender and soft.
Flecks of black and purple on opal wings.
The mourning doves around the pear tree coo.
They greet the morning with the joy
only songbirds are capable of while searching the grass for seed.
At dusk they nestle their heads under their wings and sleep,
secure in their place.
But this morning a dove got caught in the telephone wire.
She strangled herself in panic.
All I can do is stare as she swings--
eyes glazed and body limp.
The rising sun casts a glare off the wet asphalt street,
silhouetting the dove, framing her death
between my neighbor’s house and blooming magnolia tree.
Ever wish to redo a day?
Ever get caught in the wire?
Everyone ignores the ugly,
especially the ugly truth that hangs over our heads.
I am the dove, and you are me.
Watch me struggle.
Watch me strangle.
There are no redos, only the reality of a running clock
and a sun that rises and sets on both life and death.
