A story of a mother's passing was the catalyst for this poem....

The Observer.

Preservation of life
gone so rapidly
from a morning more ususal

than none.
Smells are similar
soaking the air
of hallways and the phone I last held
dialing for help.
A cardinal chirps on the other side
of the window for bread,
or suet,
or seed...
or a life inside to feed.
Her dead eyes are fixed on his stance.

I hear the red sirens
scrape the gray curb
as my fingers tingle with numbness.
Preservance of life goes so slowly,
to the scarlet bird as he takes
off in bored flight.
This is the start of the rest
of my life.