Rojane Jasper was born in Italy and spent most of her childhood in Scotland. She completed training as a registered nurse in London and currently lives in the Midwest. 

Bird on a Perch

Today I vacuumed
Under the birdcage.
The carpet was strewn
With tiny, tiny feathers.
The feathers plucked
From the breast of the bird
Were no bigger
Than forget-me-not petals.
Each one white and translucent
With a sapphire-blue rim.
As I vacuumed,
More tiny feathers
Drifted slowly down.
The blue parakeet
Remained stationary and silent
On a perch in its cage.
The feathers seemed
To drift in slow motion
Like a scene from a ballet
Where the dancer
Diaphanous in white
Before her demise
Preforms her final pirouette.
In watching the delayed descent
Of each feather, there seemed
To be something so plaintively,
So intrinsically sad.
Each small feather
Seemed to portend and anguish,
A lament, a languished last letter.
Each tiny emissary
Drifting less certain
Than the one before,
But each faithful
To its origin,
To the memory
Of what it once knew.
The wind on the wings,
A white cloud
And an infinite sky.
Then the sudden chirp
Of the bird
To carry the words
Adieu, Adieu
To the hum of the vacuum
Adieu!