It was November. It was cold; below the seasonal average, the weather forecast said. The wind swept the dead leaves along in gusts. The sky was a cold, clear blue. Really not the weather to be put ... [+]
Dear owl on my keychain,
Your round tummy
is a comfort to rub.
And now the painted words "El Salvador"
are ingrained in my fingers.
Your feathers were a red brown,
fresh from the package.
Now they are gray
from pocket-affection.
I panicked
when you lost your wing.
I would have kept you
with or without it.
The glue took ages to dry,
Will it stay? Will it not?
Now one wing is off kilter
It's part of your charm.
You are the only accessory
dangling with my keys.
You are the reassuring bulge
when I sit down.
I miss my brother.
I'm glad
he sent
you.
Your round tummy
is a comfort to rub.
And now the painted words "El Salvador"
are ingrained in my fingers.
Your feathers were a red brown,
fresh from the package.
Now they are gray
from pocket-affection.
I panicked
when you lost your wing.
I would have kept you
with or without it.
The glue took ages to dry,
Will it stay? Will it not?
Now one wing is off kilter
It's part of your charm.
You are the only accessory
dangling with my keys.
You are the reassuring bulge
when I sit down.
I miss my brother.
I'm glad
he sent
you.