A Beautiful Murder

By Niall Twohig

At sunup, you appear—

black wing still

amid swaying fronds.

At 42, I finally see you

as Da saw you—

beautiful creatures!

And smart—

You’ve watched me

longer than I you.

Patiently you awaited

my waking.

And today I wake.

I wake.

Awake,

I bring ye bread.

You call to kin

who swoop on swift wing.

The murder of you perches—

Still. Still. Still.

Three of ye

unsure of me,

shy away till I’m away.

But I see. I see. I see.

your black eyes,

see through

my tired eyes—

See the green of me,

nested away,

Sprouting. Sprouting. Sprouting.

Finally, a place

for ye three

to make a home.

Tomorrow,

daughter and I will

bring ye bread and scatter ye nut.