I am Not an Island by Jacky Kennedy

Separated by glass,

my friend waits patiently.

A well stocked cupboard

has forged our bond.

I fear each day I may lose him.

I leave the comfort of my chair,

place meaty morsels on the lawn.

My friend cannot close his gape.

Rummaging my offerings he scoops,

swallows what he can.

Media churn out news of

a viral world. I am not an island

but for now, in body, I must be.

The phone scoops and swallows my conversations.

My blackbird is absent today.

House clean,

garden in shape.

A bird forages in a newly hoed border.

I am halfway out of my chair but….

no… it’s the robin.

New novel, not engaging,

concentration flies away.

Eyes stray to the window,

searching… garden seat, bird bath.

No blackbird.

Sipping after dinner coffee

by that lonely window,

the garden is deserted.

Eyelids, heavy… with…

disappointment… close.

                                                        

Cold coffee when I wake.

A rock settles heavy inside.

Drowsy mind explores

for its meaning…

A blackbird sized hole.

Lingering, watching fire in the sunset,

and shadows deepen.

A dark shape lands on the birdbath.

My spirits lift me from my chair.

I put out meaty morsels.

                                                 

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