A fluttering line of birds encircled my mother
as she scrubbed at our dishes in the kitchen sink.
The morning started just like any other,
with her shouting that I should ignore my older brother
who was using a butter knife to make me blink
when the birds flew in the door and surrounded my mother.
A smile bent her lips like a change in the weather,
and that must be what made me think
that the morning would end like no other.
She plucked a bird from the air, and then another,
and slitting their throats, she began to drink.
The birds raged and spun around my mother
and I covered my eyes while the invisible tether
between what is and what isn’t began to shrink.
Praying for a morning just like any other,
I pulled my hands from my face to find one single feather
floating in the air above the kitchen sink
where the circle of birds had surrounded my mother.
She stepped out of this life and flew into another.
