In the name
of everything supposedly holy
I feed the birds, which amounts to
now and then feeding as well
one of the neighborhood’s
The birds land, grateful but wary,
on the suet I’ve hung, never staying long;
how they ground themselves to peck
the fallen seeds, staying for even less time
as the cats across the street lurk,
hoping to snatch the unconcerned.
My every well meant act
carries at least a little death with it.
This is true for all of us.
We don’t usually see it;
no one sees our scythes
as we slice through
existence: rare earth miners
dead for our phones; field workers’
cancers caused by the chemicals
keeping our lettuce crisp;
an unmasked breath passing
its bleak viral load onto another
who passes it onto another;
and somewhere along that chain
a link fails and falls,
and we made it happen.
I will keep feeding the birds.
The neighborhood cats will keep watch
and I’ll knock on the window
to chase them away when I can.
There are those who are saying
this is the time of the Holy Reset
and I acknowledge that something allegedly holy
is happening among us all today
as we pause for a long moment
to try and not be killers today.
Do you really believe it will make us think
about not being killers tomorrow?