happening upon a photo of dad before he left mom,
before we were born, never to be heard from again
[re-remembered as a bird burial]
By Kevin Dwyer
we found a familiar robin in the middle of the backyard
on its back
and ran to mom in the kitchen
while the flies preyed upon it
this wasn’t the first time we had stumbled upon a dead bird
ran back and stared at it in a circle
hunched over
never saying a word
while mom got the white garbage bag and gloves
most times she would leave the bag by the curb
apart from the trash
we were younger then
but we asked her if we could bury it this time
by the bush under the tree
we assured her we would dig a hole
a deep one
that we learned in school how it would be good
for the earth
that if we buried it the bird wouldn’t start to smell
until the garbage men came in the morning
the neighbors would close up their curtains
she agreed
as long as she could inspect the hole beforehand
the three of us dug hard
taking turns with the hoe
chopping at tentacle roots
until our foreheads were damp
and we were satisfied with its depth
we ran back in the kitchen to tell her we were done
she turned from the tv
washed her hands
put on the gloves
and followed us outside
she told us to dig a bit deeper
we did
Kevin Dwyer (He/Him) is a Catholic high school educator, inspiring his students to read and write passionately. He earned his Honors BA from Saint Louis University, MA from Fordham University, and is completing his PhD at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. Nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, Kevin’s chapbook and poems can be found at Yellow Flag Press, MockingHeart Review, The Writing Disorder, and Grand Little Things. You can connect with Kevin on Instagram @Kdwizzle
Artwork Source: “Dood roodborstje,” Theo van Hoytema. In the public domain.
The Turning Leaf Journal 