The Scarlet Ibis

The brown reddish rust-like curtains,
Silhouette the vacant white windows,
Like a blood stain on pale skin.

Laid I—stupor, vacantly.
The cascade of reds n’ rusts,
Precluding all thoughts.

I tried to look away,
In search of impunity,
But all I found had rot.

All at once though,
The reds seem to instigate;
Finally a thought,
Like a sudden paroxysm,
Of a dead scarlet ibis;

The bird with its wounded wings,
That once flapped through the tropics;
The red bird with the reds so pale,
And the eyes of a helpless,

Laid there on the window pane,
—vacantly stupor, hopeless;
Staring at me just as I
Was at my scarlet ibis...

penned on: Jan. 28, '03
7:38 pm