Two Little Swallows For Our Common Fate

A couple of iridescent, blue green swallows were dashing,

Towards the shining field of colorful flowers, rich with swarming insects,

But it was fake, lethal news,

A reflection from the deadly, unattended glass,

Of a deserted environmental center,

Abandoned by terrified humans, fleeing the virus,

Who, unawares, left a cruel trap behind.

The second bird, in a flash of time,

Alerted by the crash of her mate in the glass,

From millisecond acrobatics,

Was able to mitigate the blow.

Intelligence can save something,

If not everything.

A little girl saw the accident,

Rushed to the rescue of the once soaring creatures.

Both passed out on the cold ciment.

One slowly recovering her senses,

The other could only re-open her eyes and shiver.

Beautiful gestures are the most significant.

Once artist of the skies,

Now in a very bad way.

The little girl kept the iridescent flier warm in her hands.

She named her Bibi Mc Grae.

It’s important to name who one loves,

That brings them to life in one’s mind,

However ephemeral those we love live.

Love time doesn’t measure.

Love is a gift.

A sharing of destinies.

What did the poor broken bird think?

That she had gone to birdie paradise,

And a gentle goddess was taking care of her?

Smoothing her long wings…

Reassuring her iridescent plumage

Bibi Mc Grae’s neck was broken,

She finally died, at peace, taken care of. 

Her mate was finally able to fly away,

Hopefully to start a new life,

Splurging on pests gulped in the sky.

The little girl cried,

And was long sad for her delicate friend Bibi McGrae,

So light, so beautiful, so exquisite,

To whom she gave tender loving care,

In her time of ultimate suffering.

Leaving the life of an exile,

Her families oceans away always,

She had never seen death before.

Death had been an abstraction,

Something which happened to Ann Frank,

And little red riding hoods.

Yes, death had happened to an uncle,

And her loving grand mother,

And the later 

Brought oceans of tears.

Her grandmother used to say,

Amazed:”Elle est si gentille, cette petite”

(She is so gentle and kind, this little one)

Yet still,

Those distant deaths,

Didn’t happen in her hand, 

Shivering, inexorable, unavoidable,

Between those long, exquisite, iridescent wings,

Splayed like a shroud

In these times of lethal pandemic,

Just two parents,

Two very vulnerable parents,

Are all there is, between her,

And the death of love

As she will never feel again.

We the living of Earth are miracles,

We give the universe feeling,

Significance, even eternity.

In a way, 

We are one, all of us from the living, 

Stupendously present, 

Individually passing away, some say insignificant,

Yet they are wrong, because we are,

Collectively irreplaceable.

We are divine,

And yet so fragile, light as birds weighting nothing,

Our time will come and go,

But our gentleness will remain.

Yes we can’t prove it,

But we can show it,

That’s all proofs are,

And teach the gods.

***

Patrice Ayme