I was waiting for the train
in a dingy raftered room,
tired of screens with scrolling news
and bored with the book in my lap
when a small child squealed.
 
“Birdie!” she called, jumping
on small pink sneakers.
She had short black bangs,
gold studs in her ears,
and eyes open for miracles.
“Birdie!” Her voice was shrill
but sweet as it pierced the haze
of travelers like me, too anxious
for the next city to notice
a pigeon perched on a plastic chair.
The bird hopped down to peck for crumbs,
its cheerful head bobbing with every step.
 
The child clapped and giggled.
I blinked a wet tear, wishing
I had been the one
to point and squeal first.
That I had spotted the iridescent
blue neck of the feathered wonder
strutting right before my eyes.


© by Jacqueline Jules.
Used here with the author’s permission.