Outside our window, a robin scolds its young,
Raising a racket, while our children plummet into real people
Peeling away from us, like bark cracking from trees.
Staccato scolding becomes a morning refrain—
Tempering the separation,
That tightens our chests.
The robin gathers worms for its young,
Regurgitating from its beak
Pink strings of sustenance.
In contrast to the robin’s morning meals,
We spare our children, and let loose the latch
That binds them to the soul of us.
Cold drafts spiral through our window
Striking a strident pace of threaded current
That traces trails toward our children’s goodbyes.
Later, our pain blends with the robin’s
When a fledgling falters, falling from the sky
right into the gaping maw of a feral feline.
My staccato call quiets the mother
as I mimic its morning scoldings
and surprise it with echoes of its cry.
Brenda Warren 2012
Gay at dVerse Poets’ Pub introduced the Triversen form this week. Click on the link to read more about the form. I wrote one Triversen for the pub on Thursday, but I wasn’t done with the form yet, so I used it to put the wordle word’s to play. Be sure to visit The Sunday Whirl for other pieces that incorporate these words.