Dead Birds in the Sun

It was a humid summer day
that foretold of approaching rain.
We were standing, hand in hand
on the edge of Bradley Point,
just because we could.
We had our lives, we had each other,
and everything was just perfect.
The aroma of enticing seafood
from a local restaurant
tickled our nostrils, and we smiled.
Soon, however, we became occupied
with staring into that water,
despite the hot rays of the sun
piercing our eyes like daggers.
We were metaphorically swimming
in waves of youth, happiness, and love.
From our dry spot above the waves,
nothing could ever harm us.
Until, rising up from the water,
came the limp, water-drenched forms
of two once-beautiful seagulls.
They floated, softly, dancing along
to wherever the water carried them.
The waves brought them to the shore,
and the gulls rested on the hot summer sand,
crumpled up - almost looking
like some vacationer's useless garbage.
It became at such a shock:
staring at the wrecks below us,
we realized that it was the water
that ate away at all they ever were.
My lover took my hand, squeezed it,
as if I could offer some assistance
to the two long-dead birds down below.
Yet what does one do, or say
at a moment like this?
Death should not have to be faced
on a hot, peaceful, summer day.
"At least they ended up together,"
I managed to choak out;
and we stepped away in a hurry
as black hawks began to swoop.


~J.V.Harker~
~Thursday 16 July 2009~