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PATSY’S QUAIL

I take solace from their competence

As they scurry around her grave,

Nurses tending a bedside.

They chitter and consult,

Grey uniforms plumed and neat,

Feet tracking the fresh dirt.

They run busily about,

Taking readings,

Making notes.

Bringing the illusion of order and aid.

At night they retreat into the blackness,

Their nest in the brush pile quite close.

Possibly they come in the wee hours

To check on her.

I like to think so anyway.

Patsy’s quail.

They’ll

Be back for the morning shift,

Tending her once more,

Allowing me to tiptoe away,

Leaving her in their care.

(Author’s note: It’s now been eight weeks since Patsy died. The pain is less sharp, though it’s certainly not gone.)


lizmain

I live with my husband in idyllic Bend, Oregon. My favorite pastime is reading, especially mysteries. When I’m not reading, I write. So far, I’ve had four novels published: two mysteries, one romance, and one middle grade/young adult. My current project is a novel of romantic suspense. I also write personal essays, short stories, and poetry. When absolutely forced to move away from my books and computer, I enjoy travel, hiking, sailing, and cooking. Just don't make me do crafts or swim in cold water.

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