Little Losses

I found a baby sparrow by a flowerpot
of dark purple pansies. It looked sweet in death,
creamy yellow fuzz just sprouting, eyes
hard peas cased in perfect pods. I buried it
in the waking earth of April under a statue of Buddha,
his plump hands folded
on his lap. The afternoon was quiet except
for a plane so far into the ether regions it left only
the sound of its leaving and the rain came down hard
as I sat back, legs crossed beneath me, watching
glass bob in the gutter’s current. All jagged,
all fearless, the pieces held to nothing
as they disappeared, and it seemed for a second
a diamond had shattered.

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A resident of Wilmington, Delaware, Cynthia has been writing poetry since the age of seven. Retired from a busy corporate career, she is currently focused on writing, reading, and serving as an assistant poetry editor for Narrative Magazine. Publication credits include American Life in Poetry, Orbis Quarterly International Literary Journal, 3rd Wednesday, Glassworks, The Main Street Rag, Sky Island Journal, and One Sentence Poems. She has been longlisted for the 2023 Palette Poetry Rising Poet Prize.