Published in Southword 49, Winter 2025

across a snowy landscape

a painted handprint flies

five brown feathered fingers

a blushing red palm

yellow triangle paper beak

And a beady dot of eye

the same small hand holds 

birdseed spilling as we pour

the feeder overflows

a beady dot of eye watches us

across the ragged garden

lean and rosy he flies

gathering our fallen offerings

for his own little fledgling