Bleeding Paloma

Bleeding Paloma He sees her in the tree, high up Hidden among the mango leaves Her egg-shell coloring peer through The dark green. He scatters the Seeds upon the earth and waits Until she flitters down, at first Untrusting the paloma walks. She notices him as she feeds, But she does not flee. He is A kind child. A good heart He convinces her and lulls hers Near with more in his palms Open she moves in sway and He takes her up as she feeds On his seeds. He caresses her plums, fingers Beneath her light wings folded Back to her side. And her Eyes study him, this natural Child, curious face and smiling. He suddenly takes her in his Tight grasp, she struggles to Ease out. He holds her against the Bare earth and places a Rock on one of her winds To Keep her there. He watches her, Walks away for a bit and then Comes back with a new face Of deceit and mischievous coals Kindling unsafe thoughts and Indifference to her naïve cooing. He bends over her and pulls out a machete. First he picks at her free wing with it. And then he brings it over his shoulder and It swings into to her, that dull Blade that makes him grin at his Experiment. The little boy watches the Bird flail to the ending tired agony And shock and betrayal and she is Wounded. Her wing barely attached Still to its center. He sets the rock aside and Uses his toes to move her around, To examine the handy work. A voice Calls him, and he scanters away; A new distraction to please him. The bird weakly flails on the earth, like Shocks of movement and then silence And then horrid shaking. Feathers litter The bare earth. The paloma lies in the reddening dirt.