She folded into thinness,
alive within my fingers.
Narrow wings rested  accordion-style.
Crease on crease
bright emerald quills
sweetly tucked in alignment
to the warmth of her chest.
I  flipped her backwards
once in my palm, her body
stretched across
the heart of my hand;
her head exposed.
The way you'd hold an orchid,
blossom bursting over
your skin melded
to an explosion of beauty
her neck arched, akimbo
to an infinite sky. A noisy
spill of color pulled
for pines, camphor
and sycamores. She burrowed
in the cup  of my hand,
and I felt her music
expand from within,
then I watched her fly.
I  longed to be her,
so I said goodbye.

Carol  Lynn Grellas is a two-time Pushcart nominee and the author of two chapbooks:  Litany of Finger Prayers,
from Pudding House Press and Object  of Desire newly released from Finishing Line Press.

This is a poem about my beloved pet Conure, Calypso, who on one gorgeous day while we were  sunning together in the garden, decided to fly across the street and  landed skillfully on the neighbor's roof. From there she taunted me for  several hours as I waited, brokenhearted until  twilight trying everything in my bag of tricks to coax her back again. In the morning she was not visible, yet I could  hear her when I called her name. She would answer back.

This went on the whole  day. By the following morning she was nowhere to be found.  It wasn't until the following  day that the neighbor made the discovery.  She had died just on  the other side of the roof. The most upsetting part of the story is that she  never really moved from the initial landing spot.  She must have thought I was on my way to retrieve her and I  thought she was on her way to find something beyond  her home.  I've always felt it was rather cruel that the neighbor told me of her  passing. I would have so much preferred to think she found her way to the rainforest. But instead she's buried below my bedroom window in a velvet perfume box, beside my favorite lavender roses. 

I miss her everyday.



Copyright 2009