The Picture
A bird made a sound
like a fist
on our window.
Mum tiptoed towards it
as if it was sleeping
then cupped it
in her hand.
Just a baby
warm
and silent.
She stroked it
talked to it
wandered around with it
still in her hand –
still, in her hand.
After a while she wrapped it
in an old towel
and I drew a picture
of an empty tree.
Marie Little lives near fields and writes in the shed. She has poetry/flash in: Acumen, Full House Lit Mag, Sídhe Press, Janus Literary Magazine, HAD, and more. She writes for children as Attie Lime. Twitter @jamsaucer @AttieLime