Tuesday, April 26, 2011

I'm Sorry.

We were riding.
The sun was
high, so were we.
I looked
back, entering
the palmed tree lane.
Sweat glistened off
her and the water.
Ducks, a mother,
five babies, walked by.
I pointed, she saw and
laughed, in delight.
I gave chase, hoping
to catch one, so that
she could hold it,
soft, young, beautiful,
in her hands.
Into the bushes, they fled
but I, fast and fleet,
swollen with love and
pride; they were not
fast enough.
Up the small slope
the last two ducklings
zigged and zagged.
But in the rush,
as I lunging towards
the one ahead of it,
panicked, it moved,
as reaching for its
brother, I stepped,
just the wrong way.
There was no crunch.
No feeling at all.
Just the way time slows...
It wasn't moving, I picked
it up. Alive in my hands
but hurt. Bad.
I remember her voice behind
me just as the mother
lunged out of the bushes
to attack.
"Don't touch it!"
But to late, later than
she was able to see.
I gently tossed the duckling
back, as the mother
lunged again.
It landed, in a heap, and
didn't move.
I backed up, terror gripping
me as I prayed, silently, Get
Up! Please! I'm sorry! Don't
let her see what
I have done! It rose, with
difficulty. It would soon
die, the damage to great for
its impossibly small body;
in another blink
it was gone, into the bushes,
with its family.
I stood, guilty sunken heart
breaking. She came nearer,
I smiled, dead inside, broken
as her innocent, naive, laughter
behind me asked, "If you touch
them, won't the mom not
take them back?"
But some things
you just can't
take back.

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