no word of comfort can she hear



the storm caught her

huddling in the rain

a sweet girl, eleven


in the autumn wind

(brushed with pain)

in the same scene

precise from childhood

the light is the same



the same scene from childhood

precise, exact



experienced again…

she’s a caring mother now

she calls her daughter

tells her where the food is on the counter

feeds her from a cellphone

across town

in the storm

she eats nothing herself

all day


in the wind & the rain

abandoned, lost

rejected by mother,

she with a tender heart

in the rain

not worthy of food

deserving nothing

she was told

feeling repeated




homicidal sometimes


stares off into the distance

shunned and ridiculed

by “caregivers”

deserving nothing

they said

abandoned, ignored

the same feeling returns

as when she wandered the streets at age 11

and slept in the back

of a truck


blamed by a psychotic helper

for every failure

a bird with a broken wing

at my window

huddling in the rain


I hear her on a cellphone

gives tender care to her own daughter

11 years old now, too;

she makes certain

the girl in the distance is fed

“make yourself some chocolat milk,

eat that piece of cake on the counter”


as a penguin feeds her children

with her own blood

she will not make

the same mistake

as the others made

with her




a wet bird huddling at my window

with a broken wing

caught for a moment in a ray of sunlight

eats a little

she shivers

glances sideways

will not look at me

jumps away,



stares off into the distance

makes to fly




I see her motionless on the lawn

by the bus stop

broken wing alone

wet, unmoving



drowned in the rain


she still feels it

even now

rejected, solitary

as when a child

this feeling is exactly the same


when she is at my place

no word of comfort can she hear

anything I say

means nothing

she stares into the distance

feels her wing break

again, repeating

sees the same scene

once more

exactly as it was

back then


where once she was

abandoned, injured

that very first time,

hurt and ignored


a bird at my window

wet in the rain

how I want to help her

to ease her pain…

but I am not allowed,

to speak or to say.







To K with love.

(C) 2015 by W.G.Milne


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