So perfect on the grass. So perfect in death. Bashful sunlight covets his dark-flecked copper, bronze, gold. Shimmering teal and turquoise neck, impossibly angled. Yellow-bead eye in red velvet. He feels unbearably soft, chilled by morning mist. If I lift him, he\u2019ll fly. Spin round and round until his giggles wobble. Skinny legs twirling like daisy stems, knees covered in plasters. His smile will split the sky open. I stroke his creamy throat, feathers parting like petals. My tears shiver like pearl buttons on his burnished mulberry chest. I smell too-bright carnations in cheap cellophane, lilies reaching with bone-white hands. His name weeps on little cards bordered in blue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Time bloats and leaches. Like sorrow. He\u2019s dulled today, tarnished. Plumage puffed in agitation, verdigris stain spreading. I reach through a blanket of green flies; he\u2019s warm now, whole tragic body breathing. If I pull him from bed, he\u2019ll grumble. Trail me like a scruffy puppy in PJs and T-rex slippers. Hair smelling of dunked biscuits, skin of squashed watermelon bubbles. His smile will wake slowly, sweeten like cereal milk. I swipe an ugly buzz from his cloudy eye, feathers fluff like dandelion seeds. I try to catch them. Hold them fast. There\u2019s a sweet rot from the flowers browning, furring in collapsed bunches. His hand-me-down name just washed ink now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A bird, a life, deconstructed. Bone and dust. Flat and faded. Forget-me-nots spring through ribcage, buttercups entangle the skull. He\u2019s gone now. Little left to show he crumpled here, bled quietly into grass. If I love him harder, he\u2019ll be safe. Cup my cheeks with marmalade-shiny hands, kiss me sunshine orange. Run and play and graze his knees and scuff his chin. His smile will rock my heart like a painted horse. I untangle grimy plastic from fenceposts, crumple a mouldering card. There\u2019s a single feather; tawny-rust crowned indigo. It tickles my nose like a sleepy breath, smells of adventurous boys. I place it inside my locket with the tuft of biscuity hair. His name indelible on the silver.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
So perfect on the grass. So perfect in death. Bashful sunlight covets his dark-flecked copper, bronze, gold. Shimmering teal and turquoise neck, impossibly angled. Yellow-bead eye in red velvet. He feels unbearably soft, chilled by morning mist. If I lift him, he\u2019ll fly. Spin round and round until his giggles wobble. Skinny legs twirling like […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\n