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The Bird
Romchyk found a baby bird, a small downy ball trapped in a narrow stucco hallway at school. He was
persistent—all day out of class—but Grisha told him it was a wild thing: didn’t belong inside, being nursed on
mosquitoes and spiders. Later we thought it must have been the spiders, full of pouched toxins that ended that
short life, its first molt just beginning.
Lesya thought the bird’s death brought on the sudden spring blizzard that lasted until Easter morning. We joined
the procession to the church, our baskets filled with bread and eggs, sprigs of rosemary and pussy willow. The
priest waved a brush dipped in holy water over us as we stood bundled against the frost.
I searched the markets for those bristled wands, hoping that if I christened the bird’s burial sight it might
reappear. I found them on the West side of Lviv, two grivna each at Ploshy Rynok, just down the aisle from a
man who sold finches and yellow canaries. Grisha, Lesya and I chose a local bird, one that would do well in the
crisp spring air. We all went out to the soybean field, Romchyk opened the metal cage and watched her fly east
over the burnished fields.
Eugenia Hepworth Petty
Romchyk found a baby bird, a small downy ball trapped in a narrow stucco hallway at school. He was
persistent—all day out of class—but Grisha told him it was a wild thing: didn’t belong inside, being nursed on
mosquitoes and spiders. Later we thought it must have been the spiders, full of pouched toxins that ended that
short life, its first molt just beginning.
Lesya thought the bird’s death brought on the sudden spring blizzard that lasted until Easter morning. We joined
the procession to the church, our baskets filled with bread and eggs, sprigs of rosemary and pussy willow. The
priest waved a brush dipped in holy water over us as we stood bundled against the frost.
I searched the markets for those bristled wands, hoping that if I christened the bird’s burial sight it might
reappear. I found them on the West side of Lviv, two grivna each at Ploshy Rynok, just down the aisle from a
man who sold finches and yellow canaries. Grisha, Lesya and I chose a local bird, one that would do well in the
crisp spring air. We all went out to the soybean field, Romchyk opened the metal cage and watched her fly east
over the burnished fields.
Eugenia Hepworth Petty
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Copyright © 2009 Eugenia Hepworth Petty (poetry). All Rights Reserved.
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