Have you ever held a bird in your hand?

Not the ones you can buy at the store,

But the wild ones who have only known sky

And wet dirt from your backyard.

Have you felt their tiny hearts racing?

The sheer panic?

Have you ever said

You should be afraid of me

You should fear death

Your life is in my hands

I can steal the sky and dry out your lands?

Have you ever realized the amount of power you hold?

Even though you would never do these things,

Hurt that bird you’ve admired from afar,

Fed and given shelter to,

Have you at least wanted to?

A bird got caught in my screened in porch

And I spent an hour trying to set it free,

But it kept running into doors and windows

And flying into the corners of the room,

Even though the screen door was wide open

And I begged it to get out,

I begged it to focus, to fight, to escape

So I wouldn’t have to risk its life.

It eventually grew tired, so I grabbed a light towel,

Tried to throw it over the bird as it scurried across the floor

As I have often done,

But every time it would barely escape,

Run to another corner of the room and I would patiently

Follow it.

It got stuck in the process of hiding from me.

I begged it to stop moving,

To give me just one more moment,

But it refused.

I never heard its neck snap, but I saw the blood in its beak.

I held it in my bare hands,

Rubbed its belly and apologized until the tears

Silenced me, my voice ragged.

I sat it in the leaves, thought maybe it’s just stunned,

But its body soon turned cold,

Tightened up and stiffened into rigor mortis.

I buried it under a tree so that when its body

Decayed its nutrients would be memorialized

In its roots, trunk, and leaves.

I never intended to kill the bird

As we often never intend to ruin

The buildings we burn,

And I envy my cat for doing it and making

It look like an art,

But I’m too human and not enough machine.