My dog slowed beneath the fir
Wings splayed between her teeth and
jutted past her muzzle.
I caught her collar before she
pried her jaws to
reach the fledgling inside:
new to flight
from his nest of
grass and feathers,
where he’d fed on
ballooning spiders and
flies and such and
had grown from egg to launch
in thirteen April days.
Now he lay in my palm,
his creamy breast
wet with saliva
one minute after
his first bold swoop
too close to the ground, where a
black dog snapped
him from the air.
I could have let the dog finish.
Let her gulp her morsel.
Instead I saw
young wings dangling,
beak unhinged as if to call,
eyes wide as if
that he could die.
Teeth: A Poem about Vincibility by Cheryl Bostrom ©2019
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
12 thoughts on “Teeth: A Poem about Vincibility”
As Always Cheryl, You Open My Eyes ! Joni
How quickly life turns.
lovely! I hope the fledgling survived…
Thanks for reading!
I felt there with you looking into the swallows eye…how fragile life is for even the birds of the air.
Yesyesyes. Thanks for reading, Cindy.
You and the Lord protecting His little creatures!
I wish I could! Thankful…so thankful for God’s care for them.
So sad and so true!
To love bird dogs and birds . . .
Makes me wonder: Will I be surprised when I am dieing? Not being morbid, just curious.
Good question, Marilyn. Depends on how and when one finds oneself dying, I suppose. What were one’s expectations? And how has one prepared for its inevitability? Or if one is too young to have entertained the notion and still feels invincible. I can imagine myself with a “Wow! This is really it!” element of surprise.