Treasure Island

Romella Kitchens

(Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania)

Gilda


A White parakeet with a pink bill, she
was all things feminine...
The birder's books said she should live
for approximately six months...
But, she sang through my love and devoted
care of her for ten years.
Her pink throat, her morning song to a God
of Sunlight.
She would weep when I left the house.
Then, one day her neck broke while she was flitting
about the cage, jovial as ever...
The bones simply too old.
Come Day Light, her tiny body cupped
in my palms, regard her still wings and explain
who will sing for either of us soulfully, now.
Blur of white wings, scent like hyacinth then
stillness.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, April 17, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

We form attachments with other beings, if we have love in us. This poem is for Gilda whom due to her playful nature I nicknamed 'Gilly'. I named her after Gilda Meckler-Deahl who died in a difficult manner two years before Gilda came into my life but made a major impression on me with her devotion to her husband, her children and her incredible art work.

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