The Birds in Winter (Revised)

The birds were kept outside that winter
In unsuitable conditions for tropical birds
But inside we had more vital issues
Than the overwintering of some birds
Grandmother was dying in the back room
It was drawn out, almost dramatic in its slowness
We sat in the stiff, formal den
Listening to the rasping that was Grandmother’s death
While outside the birds’ fluttering breaths
Become shorter and sadly shallow

The day of Grandmother’s funeral
Came bleak and pale
We mourned with the other attendants
Although we had already been grieving for some time
Returning to the house for sandwiches and tea
We headed to the back to check the birds
And there found them motionless
To comfort ourselves we said that it was meant to be
That the birds carried Grandmother’s soul up to heaven
But we know that this was not the circumstance
The birds’ wings remained stiffened to their bodies
Eternally frozen in ivory splendor