below the crevasse of the earth,
we found a dead blackbird today.
it was found, below the ice,
wings frozen in its attempt to escape.
i told my sister this:
she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
i told my brother this:
he thought it was cool.
i told my parents this:
they asked, “how did that happen?”
i sometimes wonder if i am the only person here,
that thinks the way i do.
instead of my family, i thought:
of the scene in my head
a small silhouette in shape of a bird,
flapping frantically to find it’s home.
it travels distances before collapsing,
down in an arctic crevasse.
finally it awakes,
just to find ice slowly glazing over,
and it flaps, flaps,
eyes darting faster and faster,
before the ice completely submerges,
a little black silhouette,
of a bird.
and, instead of crying or asking
or being grossed-out,
i used it as an inspiration
blossoming in my mind,
and i write.