She screams a sound
that goes through bones and rocks.
The gull is witnessing the drowning
of her wounded young.
Circling anxiously over the waves,
attempted rescue doomed to fail,
she can not help. Her desperation
goes beyond what she knows safe.
She looks at me.
I hold the hands of both my young
that cry for what is going on.
Her fear of me forgotten, now she lands
before my feet. She waits till I take action.
I walk into the water for some steps,
but the undertow is quicker;
the young gull does not once emerge.
The mother flies,
stays above our heads a while,
her screams are fading
in a hoarse cry over loss
before she sets off to the sea.
On the deserted beach, three crows
come looking for the small cadaver
when it’s washed ashore.
I take my two back home
into the safety of the nest.
We hear her cry all day.
a repost of March